Odes to a Forgotten Love
by Emiliya Wolfe
Summary: Collection of one-shots about the Bloody Baron and Helena Ravenclaw as soulmates.
1. St John's Wort

**Gobstone: yellow, first love: (accuracy) twinkling, (power) slate grey, (technique) comply**

 **Romance awareness month: Write about someone casting a spell (or getting a spell cast) to find their soulmate.**

 **Optional claimed pairing: Helena Ravenclaw/Bloody Baron (officially dubbed Septimus)**

 **Optional prompts: Yule Ball (+5 points), (setting) common room.**

 **Beta'd by The Kawaii Neko and WritingBlock.**

* * *

 _Old English guide:_

 _Thou/thy - you/your (2nd person singular)_

 _Hast - have_

 _Dost - do; doth - does_

 _Mayst - may_

 _Shallst - shall_

 _Wouldst - would_

 _Ere - before_

* * *

Helena Ravenclaw slipped out of her room at dusk, making her way silently across the common room she shared with Septimus in slippered feet. If he ever found out what she was doing, she might just die of embarrassment.

Making sure her dressing gown was firmly tied around her waist, she walked down three flights of stairs to the Hufflepuff basement, where she quickly tickled the pear to the kitchens. She crossed no one in her path, for they were all busy preparing for the Yule Ball, which would start in thirty short minutes.

It wasn't the most ideal time to cast a spell, but then when were spells ever compliant to a witch's wishes?

'Polly,' she called hurriedly. 'Art thou here?'

'Mistress Helena asked for Polly?' the house-elf asked, rushing out from under a pile of dishes and curtsying as low as her tea cosy would allow.

'Dost thou have the item?' Helena demanded.

'Yes, Mistress, Polly picked the flower at dawn as Mistress requested,' the house-elf curtsied once more before presenting the seventeen-year-old with a yellow flower, perfectly preserved.

'Thank you Polly,' Helena breathed. 'Thou mayst return to your duties.'

'At once, Mistress,' Polly curtsied a third and final time before running back into the kitchen.

Helena walked carefully out of the kitchens, holding the St John's Wort aloft for fear of breaking the petals. Taking the steps as quickly as she dared, she arrived in the heads' common room with twenty minutes to spare. As predicted, Septimus was still in his room, getting ready for what he probably thought was the most important night of his Hogwarts career.

'Incendio,' Helena murmured to the fire, not bothering to take the wand out of her pocket.

Kneeling in front of the blazing hearth, she stared into the flickering flames.

'This is the moment thou hast waited for, Helena,' she whispered to herself. 'Tonight, thou shallst know the name of thy first and only love.'

Gently kissing each yellow petal, the Ravenclaw thrust the flower into the flames, inhaling deeply as it crumbled to ash.

 _'Thou silver glow-worm, oh! lend me thy light,_

 _I give thee the mystic St. John's Wort to-night;_

 _The wonderful herb whose leaf will decide_

 _To whom the coming years shall see me a bride.'*_

The fire suddenly burned a bright and blinding yellow.

Satisfied that the spell had worked, Helena nimbly climbed the stairs to her room, eager to get ready for the ball.

* * *

Septimus eyed his reflection in the mirror, giving his ruffle one last tug. His cuff links were of a polished silver, his robes of the finest green velvet. The blue accents on his shirt would go nicely with Helena's dress, which was certain to be representative of her House colours. After all, this was the Yule Ball, and even if Helena had problems with her mother, she could never say sorry to a formal dance.

Satisfied with his appearance, he buckled his shoes and made his way down the stairs, conjuring a bouquet of irises just as Helena appeared at the opposite side of the room.

She was truly a vision to behold.

Her raven hair was bound by fine silver thread in a thick braid, framing her face like a halo save the few strands that were artfully left out. Her long, elegant neck was graced with the simplest of jewellery, a white gold chain inlaid with oval sapphires. Her eyes, with their long dark lashes, were a slate grey, as cold and biting as the wind. Her robes were of blue-grey silk and would be in defiance of her mother's name if not for the royal blue of the sleeves.

She was nothing short of perfect.

'My Grey Lady,' Septimus bowed, his voice low with emotion.

'Septimus,' she nodded, the disdain clear in her voice.

He ignored it.

'Shall we?' he gestured to the door.

'We shall,' she replied, taking his arm with one fluid gesture and allowing him to lead them to the Great Hall.

* * *

The Great Hall was an incredible sight. The Four Founders had pulled all the stops, as they did for every Yule Ball. Snowflakes fell in gentle spirals, promptly vanishing on contact with the stone floor, though the ceiling was enchanted to show the twinkling stars of a clear night. Fur trees lined the walls alongside two of the four long tables, laden with food appropriate for a Yule feast.

Helena swept her eyes across the room, unconsciously lifting her head a little higher as she saw her mother seated at the head table, which had been kept in its original position. Trust the Founders to keep themselves apart from the festivities, as though they were above the rest of the common folk.

'Wouldst thou care to dance, my lady?' Septimus asked from her side, holding the tips of her fingers between his own.

There were worse ways to be asked to dance, Helena thought. Septimus was very charming, in his own way. Still, as she accepted and he led her to the floor, she could feel her mother's eyes burning a hole in the back of her head.

There were worse ways to be asked to dance, but a dance was all that Septimus would ever receive, so long as he had her mother's blessing.

* * *

Septimus glanced over to Rowena Ravenclaw, who gave him the smallest of smiles. A weight lifted off his chest. Even though he knew he had the founder's permission to court her daughter, it was one thing to ask and another to do. The first hurdle had been overcome. The second was to convince Helena that she didn't always need to fight her mother. This was one battle that was unnecessary.

As one dance transitioned into another, their bodies moved in synchronisation, a wonder to behold. Septimus knew that he was a good dancer, it was in his genes, in his blood, and the result of hours of practice. Yet he never moved quite so gracefully as when he was with Helena, who seemed to transcend life itself, never putting a finger out of place, gliding as though she never touched the ground.

He knew in his heart of hearts that they were destined to be. He was Head Boy, she was Head Girl. He was clever, she was intelligent. He was cunning, whereas she was wise. He was as passionate as the ocean's tide, she was as cool as a moonless night. Two sides of the same face of a coin, and yet Septimus believed that they had only scratched the surface.

He knew in his heart of hearts that they were destined to be, but Helena did not.

* * *

As the night drew to a close, Helena realised that she had fallen into her mother's trap. She had agreed to open the dance with Septimus - it was only befitting as the representatives of the school, but then she had resolved to be left free to her own devices.

She had planned on captivating as many souls as possible, attempting to find her soulmate before the evening ended. After all, there was no other Wizarding school in Britain, and she couldn't bear to live a life without magic. Instead she had found herself to agreeing to yet another dance, yet another glass of mulled wine, drawn into yet another discussion about the dangers of spell creation.

Now the bell tolled midnight, and she would have to leave if she were to reap the fruits of her earlier spell.

'I must leave,' she said to Septimus, releasing the hand she hadn't realised she had been holding.

'But the ball doth not end 'til witching hour,' Septimus replied, confusion marring his aristocratic features.

'Nevertheless, I must beg my leave,' Helena repeated, with only a hint of regret.

She all but fled, not waiting for his response, not waiting to be drawn in by the man she felt herself falling in love with as the days went by.

 _It is but a mere infatuation,_ she corrected herself. _A foolish girl's fancy, nothing more than the result of the anticipation of this night's revelation._

The sooner she found out who her true love was, the sooner she could find him and defy her mother and her all-knowing counsel. She would prove Rowena Ravenclaw, wisest witch of the age, wrong.

As she raced up the stairs, she heard Septimus following, so she ran faster, harder, casting a spell of haste upon her slippers. Once she had found her way to their Common Room, she all but bellowed the password.

'Wit beyond measure!'

'Very well, very well, hold thy horses,' the portrait grumbled, his eyes wide with surprised. 'Why I never. Helena, art thou quite well?'

Helena ignored the portrait, slamming him shut and whispering another password to lock the door for several moments. Septimus would guess, he knew her too well not to, but it would buy her valuable time, enough time for what she required.

She threw herself in front of the fire, kneeling on the wooden floors, splaying out her hands on each side so that her sleeves would not ignite. Desperately, she began to recite:

 _'Thou silver glow-worm, oh! lend me thy light,_

 _I gave thee the mystic St. John's Wort to-night;_

 _And now upon the bell's twelfth peal,_

 _My true love's face to me reveal.'_

For a moment, there was nothing. Helena began to fear that she was too late, closing her eyes with disappointment. It was common lore that the spell could only be performed twice in one's lifetime, on midsummer night's day or midwinter night's eve of the year whence one came of age. Helena had decided on the latter, as the flames would burn brighter in the dark.

Suddenly, a bright light flared against her eyelids.

Eagerly, she opened her eyes, forcing herself to look into the deepest part of the fire. A face began to form, wide blue eyes flickering through the flames, joined by high cheekbones as pale as the moon.

Helena cried with anguish, dousing the flames. She needed not look any longer; she had seen that face before. She had spent the entire evening staring into those eyes, trying to avoid the inevitable.

For the face of her true love, her soulmate, the one to prove her mother wrong, was none other than that of Baron Septimus Rosier.

* * *

 _*Old Germanic poem. It was believed that if one placed the flower beneath one's pillow, then one would dream of the person they were to marry._


	2. Of Tradition and Superstition

**Romance awareness month: Your soulmate's name is written on your wrist.**

 **Bonus points: Western!AU, use of Helena/Septimus**

 **Gobstones Club: Pink Stone - New Adulthood**

 **Extra prompts: accuracy - (object) flashlight; power - (genre) western; technique: (object) suitcase**

* * *

Helena Ravenclaw opened her eyes to a bright sunny morning in a bright and sunny room. The nets around her four poster bed to keep the insects out were woven from the finest white lace, swaying softly in the summer breeze. Her satin sheets were soft and light, perfect for the typical Western summer.

Ordinarily, Helena Ravenclaw would have smiled on a day like this, thankful for her luxurious lifestyle and eager to find out what gems her papa had hidden for her in the library. Ordinarily, she would have run downstairs to enjoy breakfast with her mother, to ask for her traditional story about her mother's mysterious past before she arrived in their small town.

But today was not an ordinary day.

The bright and sunny room seemed to mock Helena instead of comfort her, and so to spite it she ducked her head under the pillow. Perhaps if she slept the day away, it would cease to even exist.

No such luck.

There was a small tap on the door, followed by the wafting scent of coffee, bacon and fried eggs. Helena emerged from under her pillow to see her maid, Alice, pouring the coffee into a mug.

'Tell me Alice,' Helena said drily, sitting up to lean on one arm. 'What is the point of knocking if you're just going to barge in here anyway?'

'Sorry Miss Helena,' the local girl replied apologetically, setting the tray on Helena's bedside and handing her the mug. 'Your mom said to just walk right in or you wouldn't be up in time.'

Helena sighed. Sometimes she hated her mother for knowing her so well.

'It's easy for her, I suppose,' she said petulantly, adding cream into her drink. 'She was never bargained away like a mule.'

'Yeah, but your pa was,' Alice reminded Helena. 'It's custom for the ranch owner to-'

'Throw a horseshoe and marry the local whose name it lands on,' Helena continued in a bored tone, 'the day they come of age. Yes I know, Alice, but don't you think it's a bit archaic? Besides, in the end papa married my mother and she was a foreigner.'

'It keeps their spirits up though,' Alice stated wisely, pulling the curtains open to let in more light. Helena shied her eyes. 'They accepted you pa marrying your ma, because it was the Lord that decided it. Take this wedding away, and no one even has a chance of going up in life. If only you'd had a brother.'

The young woman sighed dreamily as she laid out Helena's clothes for the day on the chair.

'And what about me, did anyone stop to think that I might be going *down in life?' Helena pouted, glaring at her maid.

Alice was unfazed.

'Sure'nuff, Miss Helena,' she gave the curtains one last tug. 'But I have faith that you'll survive.'

Helena had the the strangest feeling that Alice was mocking her.

* * *

Septimus Rosier jumped off his horse and unbuckled the suitcase behind it, shading his eyes as he surveyed the town. It wasn't a bad sort of town - surprisingly clean, in fact, but that might have been due to the unwanted dust baths the wind liked to give it from time to time.

He had passed by a mansion with dozens of horses in the paddock, and assumed that it was supposed to belong to the local rich folk. There were always the rich locals. Septimus would know - he had been one of them. Alas, it was the eldest child who inherited the ranch, and Septimus - as his unoriginal name would suggest - was the youngest of seven. His father had been good about it, paying for whichever career he decided to try his hand at, but Septimus couldn't shake the need to stand on his own two feet.

So he had found himself here, in the backwaters - so to speak - of the desert, where superstition roamed like bandits on the highway. Septimus would know - he had met several on the road.

Tying his horse's reigns loosely to a post, Septimus headed into the saloon, where he would most probably find out where he could board for the duration of his stay.

'Howdy,' the bartender greeted as he sat down. 'What can I get ya?'

'Whiskey,' Septimus grunted. He knew how to work these folk.

'Here y'are.' A drink slid down the bar to meet Septimus's open hand. 'What brings ya 'round these parts?'

'Business,' Septimus said simply, drinking his whiskey and motioning for more.

After his third glass, a group of locals entered the bar, sitting not far from his stool.

'Can ya believe it?' one asked. 'They's given us a new sheriff. An unelected one.'

'I was told he was only here to clear out the bandits,' another replied, frowning.

'I thought it was 'cause his daddy's a big cheese,' the third gave the others a meaningful look.

'I thought it was 'cause he said he'd kill the city-slickers if they din't give him a job.'

'I thought -'

'And I thought it was because no one from this town wanted the job,' Septimus interjected, drawing his stool closer to their table.

'And who're you, then?'

'I'm the new sheriff.'

* * *

Septimus cursed as he entered the third basement of the day. When news had spread, half of the townsfolk had greeted him before the sheriff's quarters, and the other half had invented disasters he was obliged to make sure weren't true.

He knew that one had to grease a few palms as they worked their way up, but he didn't think it was this bad. It was his first job, and he had the niggling feeling that he was being played for a fool. So much for being suave, though at least no one was openly hostile. In fact, it seemed like more of a game to them.

He clicked off his flashlight, wiping away a few cobwebs, before emerging back into the house.

'So? D'you find anything?'

A family of four were standing huddled around the doorway, preventing him from exiting the basement. They had believed that a ghost was haunting it, since the floorboards creaked in the night. Septimus had tried to explain that the floorboards also creaked in the day - they just went unheard with all of the noise outside - but they weren't having it.

'Yes,' he replied, as gravely as he could. 'There was indeed a ghost's nest. But I placed the cross of Christ in the centre of the essence of their leader, and they will bother you no longer. The floorboards will creak, but it is a result of past events.'

'Oh, praise the Lord, thank you,' the mother said, making the sign of the cross. 'It would have been a bad omen, ghosts in the town just as it's Miss Helena's eighteenth birthday.'

'Who's Miss Helena?' Septimus asked curiously. All around, the town had bustled with activity, but the gossip drew to a close whenever he drew near.

'Why, she's Mr Ravenclaw's daughter,' the father said, surprised at Septimus's ignorance. 'Today is the day she's engaged to be married!'

'Who's the lucky groom?' the young sheriff asked.

'We don't know yet,' one of the daughters piped up from behind her mother's skirts. 'She hasn't thrown the blessed horseshoe yet!'

Septimus frowned, wondering whether he had heard right.

'The blessed horseshoe?'

* * *

Helena Ravenclaw held her head high as she walked through the crowd of people sending flowers her way. Her mother said she ought to feel flattered that the townfolk looked up to her, but to Helena - who had been declared "the most beautiful woman in the West - from the moment she had turned three - it was simply the way of life.

She would much rather have been reading books in the library with her father. If she were to marry, she would want to get something out of it. Instead, she would probably end up with an illiterate husband with three missing teeth, who spent all of his time in the saloon.

A smile graced her face for the first time that day. *Spending all of my time away from my husband to be wouldn't be too bad actually, she thought.

As she reached the pen that had been cleaned precisely for this purpose. Each post had the name of every eligible bachelor from the entire town and a five mile radius. Seizing the half-circle with her left hand, Helena faltered.

'Please, Lord,' she whispered. 'If I am to have any chance at happiness in this life, let this horseshoe fly and keep flying. None of these can be my soulmate, I know it.'

She glanced nervously at the forge, where a metal band was ready to be heated with the corresponding name. Once the horseshoe landed, her wrist would be branded with the name of her husband, as had her father's before her, and her grandmother's before him, and all of her ancestors since time began - if one believed the local legend.

'Please,' she prayed, giving the shoe a gentle kiss.

Alice tied the powder blue scarf around Helena's eyes, obscuring everything from view. The cloth was oddly soft, considering the young woman thought it akin to a noose. Her maid turned her once, twice, thrice, and Helena held her arm out, letting fly the horseshoe on the third turn.

Quickly, she tore off the blindfold, eager to see where the shoe landed, and yet hoping for it never to land at all.

* * *

'Ouch!' Septimus cried.

As if his day hadn't been trying enough. Now, as he was on his way to see the spectacle that was Miss Helena's betrothal, a large metal object made contact with his forehead, knocking him to the ground.

He blinked, stars spinning around his head as he groaned. His vision went black, but only for a moment, and as he opened his eyes again he was met with the sight of an angel.

'Are you alright?' she asked, her accent too clipped, too proper to be one of the townsmen.

A smooth white hand reached for his, helping him into a sitting position.

'I- I'm not sure. Am I in heaven?' he asked, dazedly.

'You must be, because that is the only place where miracles are granted,' she quipped, her laughter musical in nature, wholeheartedly joyful. 'What is your name, mystery man?'

'Septimus,' he replied. 'Septimus Rosier. I'm the new sheriff.'

'Septimus,' she repeated, dragging out his name as though tasting it upon her lips. 'Tell me Septimus, do you know how to read?'

'"To learn to read is to light a fire; every syllable that is spelled out is a spark",' he quoted in return.*

'Then it is settled. George, if you would.' The mystery woman held out an arm, lifting the sleeve of blue silk to expose more of that milky white skin.

Septimus twisted around, sitting up properly, only to see that the whole town was looking down upon him. A hiss of pain cut into his confusion, and he turned back to see the book-lover clutching at her arm in agony.

'Hold out yer arm then, sheriff,' a man holding a pair of tongs said impatiently.

'Wh-'

Septimus barely had the time to utter a syllable of bewilderment, before the small child from the family he had talked to earlier held out his arm, ripping his sleeve down with surprising force. A few seconds later, his wrist burned white-hot and he felt his eyes tearing up.

As he opened his mouth to ask the meaning of this ritual, his words died upon his lips. For branded into his skin in flaming red was one word.

"Helena"

* * *

 _Quote by Victor Hugo, French author and poet._


	3. Of Love and Suffering

**Romance Awareness Month: your soulmate can take away your pain.**

 **Gobstones Event: Gold Stone - Illness**

 **Accuracy: (emotion) depression. Power: (word) glowing. Technique: (setting) hotel.**

* * *

'My mother is dying,' Helena said emotionlessly, though tears dripped from her closed eyelashes. 'My mother is dying and there's nothing I can do.'

'Then go to her, my lady,' Septimus implored, taking a step towards her. 'There is still time yet - let us retire upstairs and pack thy affairs. The hotel must be connected to the Floo, Albania is not such a backward country.'

At this, the hotel concierge gave the Baron an affronted look. Septimus noticed and simply raised an eyebrow. With the amount Helena was most assuredly paying, the concierge could afford to be insulted.

'It is too late, Septimus,' Helena sighed, her eyes opening and turning towards the window. There was such sorrow, such emotion behind them that she looked like a poetess of old. 'It has always been too late.'

'I will not believe these words, Helena,' the Baron replied gravely.

Helena simply sighed.

That was the moment that Septimus began to worry. Where was her fight, her spark of energy? She had never allowed him to refer to her by her maiden name before now; why would she permit it now, of all times?

'Perhaps it was an error to travel to Albania,' Helena said softly. 'I had hoped it would bring me peace, happiness, but instead it has only brought me heartbreak. I feel as though life has turned grey, as though all of the happiness has been sucked from the world. And now… thou bringst news of my mother. There was a time when I would have rejoiced to hear such words, but ere thy arrival I felt the burden of guilt upon my heart.'

Septimus didn't know how to reply to that. Helena had never spoken so freely of her sentiments, and never with such a lackluster tone.

'Send word to my mother,' she said. 'Tell her… tell her I am sorry. I never wished this curse to upon her, but I cannot help but feel that I brought it to her door.'

'Lady Helena, how could this be true?' Septimus asked, determined to bring her out of this foul mood.

He clasped his hands over her own, knowing only that he wished to remove her pain by any means necessary. Suddenly, a glow began to emit from her palm. Septimus watched it with awe, wondering what sorcery he had awakened, before he felt his heart become laden with grief.

The colours seemed to drain from the brightly decorated hotel lobby, and he felt as though it were an effort simply to keep his head held high. The urge to sleep, to have the world continue on without him, around him, rose up from within a hole in his heart he hadn't even realised was there.

Looking towards Helena, he noticed that the colour had returned to her face, her cheeks becoming rosy, her eyes retrieving their former spark. He had never felt further from her than he did in that moment.

Helena's eyes travelled to their glowing hands, still entwined.

'Thank you, Septimus,' she replied, giving him a small kiss on the cheek.

Septimus tried to bring forth the joy he had expected would come with such a reward, but he found that summoning emotions was simply too much effort.

'However, this pain is my burden to bear,' she said, rising to her feet and gently tugging him towards the Floo. 'I would not wish it upon my most hated enemy, let alone the person dearest to me in the world.'

Before Septimus realised what was happening, she had poured a handful of powder into the fire.

'Hogwarts,' she intoned clearly, pushing him into the flames. 'Tell Rowena I send my regards.'


	4. How Precious Sight Can Be

**Romance Awareness Month: people can't see colour until they meet their soulmate.**

 **Gobstones Challenge: Blue Stone - isolation.**

 **Accuracy: "I wish I could stay". Power: blind!AU. Technique: rainy**

* * *

When Helena Ravenclaw was born, her mother gasped. For when her beloved daughter first opened her eyes, they were covered with a milky white substance that could only mean one thing: Helena Ravenclaw was blind.

Rowena quickly bundled up her daughter and took her back home without a word, hoping that the Healers would have the decency and common sense to keep quiet about her daughter's condition. For whilst it was natural for a child to never see colour in the wizarding world, only one every few generations was born blind.

Those who were bore a fate worse than death. A wizard or witch saw their surroundings in black and white until they saw their one true love, when all of the colours would flood back in a myriad of rainbows. It could be when they were four years old, fourteen, or even forty. There were those unfortunate souls that would never see a drop of colour in their lives.

Those who were born blind were destined to die by their lover's hand, a love cursed by the heavens or crossed by the stars, depending on one's point of view. Rowena Ravenclaw was of the former.

So she locked her daughter away in her country home, carefully letting only family members who had already found their soulmates near her precious daughter. The moment when Helena received her Hogwarts letter was a moment that left a sense of dread within her mother's heart.

* * *

Helena Ravenclaw was not an ordinary girl. Or so she surmised from the scraps of conversation she was able to salvage by sitting on the stairs.

Her mother was never around, spending all of her days and some of her nights at the illustrious school she had founded with three friends. Helena _hated_ her for it. But at the same time, she loved her mother. For who else would bring her special books to while away the boredom, to describe the wondrous vision of reds and blacks and greens, the rolling hills of the countryside, the beauty of the world without?

Helena did not deem herself a burden. She had no need of her mother's fanciful tales. She could smell the sweet scent of lavender, feel the tenderness of the earth between her fingers. No, she did not believe that she warranted such cruel behaviour.

For although Rowena Ravenclaw had good intentions when she had procured books written in Braille, she had not foreseen the consequences. Helena had read of dashing princesses and wily dragons, handsome princes and talking companions. And she began to feel lonely, by herself in her country home, with only her uncle for company. She longed to speak with someone her own age, to go on adventures as the children in her stories did.

When she was eleven years old, Rowena sat her down at the kitchen table and explained her condition. The day she met her prince charming, her soulmate, was the day she would die. For in Rowena's eyes, Helena would be doomed from the moment she retrieved her sight.

* * *

Septimus Rosier arrived at the doors to Hogwarts brimming with enthusiasm. He _would_ find his soulmate here, no matter what his father said. He _would_ see the blues and greens and yellows and reds of the school uniforms, and he would do so before he graduated. His father had only found his mother late in life - too late, he said - and there had been complications at Septimus's birth.

His brothers and sisters had grown up with a mother. He had not.

Unconsciously, or perhaps out of childish spite, the others had avoided him, for fear or anger Septimus would never know. One thing was for certain; they blamed him for their mother's death. The death of a woman Septimus had never met, never asked anything of, rested squarely on his shoulders. The only thing that could cure it, he thought, would be to find his soulmate and the joy in seeing colours that his father spoke of warmly. The only thing his father spoke of warmly, in fact.

He did not see her at the Sorting. He did not see her in his lessons. He did not see her around school, although he made sure to look each and every female in the eye - be they lion or snake, badger or eagle. It was not until his third year at Hogwarts that his robes turned green and silver - or so he supposed - and he was able to see the warm browns of the stairwell.

The trouble was, he didn't know who he had met that could cause it.

* * *

It was not until they met outside the platform in King's Cross that Septimus finally found the identity of his true love.

It was lightly raining at the time. Septimus was now seventeen - a man grown - but he still hadn't got over the wonder of being able to see the world around him for what it truly was. He admired the shine of the droplets as they fell upon the ground, sending rivulets of silver down the muddy pavements.

A girl was standing before him, her head tilted to the sky, breathing deeply as if the water were life itself. He did not know her, and yet he felt drawn to her. As he neared, he frowned. Why was this girl still made of shadows, of blacks and whites and greys, even though he had received his true sight?

True, her long black hair was beautifully braided, and her dark eyelashes contrasted with her pale skin, but it was not until he looked away from her face that he realised that it was not a trick of the light, but merely the colours of which she was made. Her coat, after all, was of a royal blue.

'Apologies, dear lady, if I interrupt thee,' he started, not sure as to how to continue. He decided on the basics. 'Might I know thy name?'

'Thee mayst not, sir,' she replied softly. 'For I am forbidden to know any but those who have found their true love, by will of mine own mother.'

'Therefore thou hast no fear of me, my lady, for I found my true sight and my love many years ago.'

She turned her head to him then, cocking it as though listening to him instead of looking. It was only when she opened his eyes that he gasped. Her eyes were as white as snow, and as unseeing as the wind.

'They call me Septimus, Septimus Rosier, my lady,' he said, bowing low to hide his shock.

At this she laughed.

'Well, Septimus, Septimus Rosier, I feel thy surprise and hear thy bow,' she said. 'Thy actions are in vain, for I see with other senses than that of mine eyes. My name is Helena Ravenclaw, daughter of the _illustrious_ founder.'

Septimus caught the sarcasm in her voice.

'And what crimes has thine own mother committed to deserve such a tone?' he inquired.

'She locked her daughter away from the world for eleven years and more,' Helena replied, her eyes returned to the rain. 'She forbade me from speaking to any other student, for fear that I regain that which I should never have lost. In short, she made me desolated, but not without hope, and that is the worst of any sin.'

'The worst?' Septimus asked, stepping nearer.

'The worst, for without hope one may learn to accept one's prison, but with it comes the most painful of heartbreaks.'

A tear slipped from her eye as she finally turned towards him. Septimus felt as though he ought to console her, but how, he knew not. In the end, there was no need, for she emitted a gasp of her own.

'Your eyes,' she said wondrously. 'They are of the palest blue. Periwinkle, if my mother is to be trusted. And your robes. They are… I do not know the word.'

'Black,' Septimus supplied.

This time he did not hesitate in taking her hands into his own, for it was certain that Helena was his true love.

'It seems as though my search is over,' he said softly.

'And mine has merely begun,' she added, pressing her forehead to his.

'Helena!' a voice called, interrupting their reverie. 'Helena! Where are you? It's not safe for you out here!'

'I must leave,' Helena said quickly, grasping the handle of her trunk. 'She cannot find me here. I do not know what she will do. It will be my fault, and my end, and if I am to die today, then I will not be imprisoned for one second more.'

'Wait,' Septimus called, his heart clenching painfully at the idea of losing his soulmate just as he found her.

'I wish I could stay,' Helena said regretfully. 'I wish I could know thee. But it is prophesied that thou willst kill me, and I wish to have had a life worth living before that is so. Thank you for my sight. Thou cannot knowst how precious it is to me.'

And with that, she Apparated, with no trace left. Septimus placed a hand in the rain where she had once stood, but all warmth had gone from the spot.

'How precious it is to me,' he repeated, his tone mournful.


	5. Betrayal

**Romance Month: Steampunk!AU, body swap for a day.**

 **Gobstones Event: Grey Stone - betrayal**

 **Accuracy: (song) "Hide" by Creed. Power: (dialogue) "this means war." Technique (word) slippery**

* * *

 _My dearest Septimus,_

 _I am currently writing this letter as my boat sails to France. The deck is wet and slippery from the storm outside, otherwise I would be writing at the prow of the ship, the place where I imagine thou wouldst be. After all, you spoke of nothing but sailing the skies, following the storm in the hopes of capturing but a little of its lightning. As it is, my quill shudders with each roll of thunder, and I apologise profusely for the illegible writing._

 _My mother's shadow has grown too long for me to bear. She believes that I owe her my whole - my life, my love my soul. But I grow weary of following her every move, and I believe that I shall wither and die if I do not escape, if I do not hide._

 _I have heard tell of a machine invented within the depths of the forges of Albania. If one is to believe the tales, it would allow one could travel back in time, escape the clutches of this world. Yet for all of my enthusiasm, I feel as though a part of me is missing. Will you not follow me, where we could be free from the tyranny of our forefathers, where there is no reason left to hide?_

 _For how could my mother deny my right to marry who I will, if she is not yet born to give the command?_

 _I await my reply with the utmost impatience,_

 _Helena_

* * *

 _My fair Grey Lady,_

 _I would follow thee to the fiery pits of hell itself if only to ask for your hand. I fear that I am too late, that you have given up all hope of waiting. Let it be known that I was detained, by none less than your mother._

 _She wishes for me to bear a message, one that cannot be written, but requires the spoken word, a compassionate ear. Hear her out through my lips before you make a mistake you will live to regret._

 _I have commandeered the best of the sky captains as I hasten to Albania. I will arrive in the morrow, but I hope my letter arrives in advance._

 _Your loving Baron_

* * *

'Helena!' Septimus cried, throwing the doors open to the machinery room.

He was met with the sound of gears whirring, bellows puffing and steam whistling. Casting his eyes about, he noticed a young woman with a black corset, the silks of her dress ruffled above her leather boots as she stepped into a compartment. Dark hair fell in waves over her shoulder, and that was all that Septimus needed to identify his love.

'Helena!' he shouted with all his might.

The woman turned around, a smile lighting up her face as she saw who had called her.

'Septimus!' she cried joyfully. 'I knew you would come!'

She jumped into his arms, and as they embraced for the first time outside of the customary courtship dance, a shudder ran through Septimus's body. Thinking nothing of it, he closed his eyes and kissed his beloved… only to find that his hand on her cheek felt the coarseness of stubble, the hand around her waist covered with a long coat. Blinking, he stepped back to see a mirror image of himself.

'What sorcery…' his voice died in his throat as Helena's high tones came out of his mouth.

Looking down, he noticed that he was corseted, his hands were perfectly manicured and soft. He touched a hand to his head, feeling the gossamer curls, the customary goggles one used for entering machinery sequestered within.

'Never mind,' he said.

Legend had it that when soulmates kissed, they would swap bodies for a day, but Septimus hadn't seen it with his own eyes, and so hadn't believed a word. It now seemed that the stories were true.

'Septimus,' Helena breathed. 'We truly are fated to be! Oh how my mother would rage upon hearing of you - the no good nobleman unworthy of being my husband - being my soulmate!'

She laughed, twirling in a movement that seemed at odds with Septimus's body.

'Your mother!' Septimus said, suddenly remembering his objective. He leaned forwards, staring himself in the eyes. 'She is ill, very ill. Her latest experiments sent a wave of nauseous gas through the steam, and the doctors fear that she will never recover. She wishes to see you, to make amends.'

Helena stepped backs, drawing Septimus's eyebrows dangerously close in anger. The hard line of his jaw only served to make her look more imposing as she drew his pistol.

'My mother!' she rumbled, her voice booming around the room. 'Oh yes, she has many ways of tricking people back into her service, into her arms. So clever that even you - my supposed true love - works at her beck and call! I should have known this was too good to be true.' She cocked the pistol, levelling it at her lover. 'This means war, Septimus. It always did, and now you're caught in the crossfire.'

'Helena,' Septimus tried to reason with her. 'This is no trick, I swear it! Your mother has promised to accept my proposal if I bring her back to you.'

'Am I some sort of good to be bartered without my consent? No, I will not be a pawn in the devil's game of chess. And I won't stand to see you turn into one either.' Helena took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. 'If my true love is one that consorts with my mother, then I would prefer to have no true love at all.'

With that, she ripped the goggles from Septimus's head, stepping into the time machine.

Later on, the workers would find the body of Helena Ravenclaw on the floor and send it to her mother. If it turned out to be someone else upon arrival, well, Rowena Ravenclaw took that secret to her grave.


	6. The Red Hand of Fate

**Romance month: A red string leads you to your soulmate**

 **Gobstones Event: Orange - Birthday**

 **Optional prompts: (AU) string, (word) signs, (word) craze.**

 **Thanks again to Shay (The Kawaii Neko) for beta-ing!**

* * *

On Helena's eighteenth birthday, she received a ball of string. Red string, to be precise. It was thick and not the kind of thread that would go well with her needlework. Not very well at all.

She looked questioningly at her mother. Rowena had never outwardly expressed any dismay at finding out that her daughter was a Squib, but perhaps the years had caught up with her. Still, Helena decided to give her mother the benefit of the doubt.

'The latest Muggle craze?' she asked.

Rowena often tried to help Helena integrate into the world she would have to live in when she left home, though always reminded her that she was welcome to stay as long as she wanted.

'No, my dear,' Rowena chuckled, but it was a tired laugh, the sort one gave when one was burdened with too many worries. 'I have thought long and hard about thy birthday gift this harvest. I believe that thou art now ready. In the wizarding world, there are signs, tells that inform one of one's true love. There are many spells and potions that help one find happiness, but - alas - none would work on my dear daughter. Still, I do not wish thee to go without love, so I made this.' She gestured to the string. 'Tie one end to thy little finger and let the string fly. It will lead thee to thy true love.'

'Oh, mother, thank you!' Helena flew to her mother's side to shower her with kisses. 'But why art thou so morose?'

'I fear that once thee find him that will hold thy heart, thou willst never return to thy aged mother,' Rowena replied truthfully, the tears pricking at her eyes.

'But of course I will, mother! My place is here.' Helena paused. 'But I am too curious now. I promise that I will be back before the moon has reached its full.'

Grabbing her deep blue travelling cloak, Helena walked out into fresh sunlight, a smile upon her face. Tying the string to her finger, she threw the ball into the air, and sure enough, it left a trail as far as the eye could see.

For three days and three nights, Helena followed the string, until she reached the edge of the moors.

 _If I take one step further_ , she thought. _It will be farther from home than I have ever been before._

Just as she raised her leg to step across the stream that bordered the land, a horse ran out from the woods yonder straight towards her, bowling her over completely.

'Goodness, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!' a young man exclaimed, quickly dismounting and giving her his hand. 'Art thou quite all right?'

'Yes,' Helena replied, a little breathlessly.

Casting around for her string, she realised that the red twine was no longer in sight. Sure enough, when she raised her little finger, she saw that the string had snapped clean off, frayed at the knot she had tied.

'How darest thee!' she cried, not caring that this youth had a horse and a sword, not knowing if he used magic or not, simply upset at the fact that her mother's gift had been lost. 'Brute! Now what will I do? Oh, woe unto thee!'

'Before thou cursest me, might I know the nature of my transgression? For never have I been punished for that which I deserve, only that which I was born with.'

'My mother's-' Helena cut herself off in mid-sentence. _There are many signs… Could this be one of them?_ 'That which thou wast born with? A… lack of something entirely by happenstance?'

'Yes, how did…' the youth cut himself off nervously, glancing around. 'Is this witchcraft?'

Helena chose her next words carefully.

'I was never blessed with witchcraft, though I have heard tales of the wonder it has wrought.'

There was another pregnant pause.

'Did thy family casteth thee out into the wild, for fear that the trait propagate?'

'I have read of these heathen practices, but mine own mother would not abandon me for the world,' Helena replied.

The young man's eyes filled with tears.

'Then she is a better mother than mine could ever hope to be,' he replied. 'Thou shouldst not have left her, for a better mother thou willst not find.'

'Would… Wouldst thou wish to meet her?' Helena asked tentatively, feeling her heart going out to this stranger.

Instead of replying, the stranger held out a hand, helping her mount his horse, before following suit.

'My name is Septimus,' he added, letting her direct his mount. 'And I believe that fate has brought her together.'

He put his hand before her and opened it to reveal the cut red string.


	7. Loneliness

**Romance Awareness Month: your soulmate has an identical birthmark to your own.**

 **Extra prompt: (object) invitation.**

 **Gobstones Event: White Stone - parenting**

 **Optional prompts: (object) key, (word) Episkey, (song) Seven Years - Lucas Graham**

* * *

 _Old English guide:_

 _Thou/thy - you/your (2nd person singular)_

 _Hast - have_

 _Dost - do; doth - does_

 _Mayst - may_

 _Shallst - shall_

 _Wouldst - would_

 _Ere - before_

* * *

 _Baron Septimus Rosier,_

 _Professor Rowena Ravenclaw, Founder of Hogwarts and Head of Ravenclaw House, formally requests the pleasure of thy company at the marriage of her daughter Helena to Hengist of Woodcroft, founder of Hogsmeade village._

 _Saturday, 14th August of our year 1005 when the sun meets the midday mark at the residence Ravenclaw in the glens of Scotland._

* * *

Helena Ravenclaw slipped out of her family home with the help of a small bronze key she had duplicated whilst her mother was sleeping. She had sent previously mentioned mother off to fetch her wedding dress from the tailor's. Rowena had been thrilled to hear that Helena had reconsidered her stance on marrying Hengist, but hadn't trusted her daughter enough to leave the house unlocked.

 _Oh mother,_ Helena thought. _After all these years, thou still underestimatest me._

There was no way Helena would be marrying that hideous old wart. So she had devised a plan to run away, but not before a trip down to her favourite lake. Rowena would think that Helena had fled the country by the time she returned, not hiding in a small cabin not twenty leagues from their house. Sometimes, the simplest solution worked best.

And this way, Helena would be able to hold out hope - hope that her childhood friend who she had treated so wrongly would come for her one last time.

* * *

 _Helena was seven years old when her mother told her to leave her books inside and make friends with the village children. Apparently, books made for a lonely child, though Helena found that other children made her feel lonelier still._

 _She hadn't expected to meet Septimus. The youngest child of seven, he had spent all of his time studying spellbooks and practicing magic, hoping to make a name for himself, since his parents hadn't seen fit to give him a proper one. Who named their child after a number?_

 _They had practiced their magic and gone on hidden adventures, but Helena made sure that her dress was always clean before her mother returned. A simple "Episkey", learnt from her mother's friend Helga, would do the charm every time._

* * *

Placing her bag filled with provisions, clothes and her five most cherished books - the joy of enlarged purses - in the hut, Helena stripped down to her shift and decided to bask on one of the small islands in the centre of the lake. With her curls pinned up under a hat, she would seem like any other girl out in the nice weather.

Settling down with a Muggle book of fairytales, she absentmindedly itched the small mark on her wrist, shaped like a hawk. She had never paid it much attention, not until her father had told her about soulmates when she was eleven, before he died.

* * *

 _'I wish with all of my being that thou findest thy soul mate with haste,' he said, patting the seat next to him._

 _Helena crawled up to him, curious as to what legend he would tell her next. She would never bear his name - the name of a Muggle was never good enough for the likes of Rowena Ravenclaw - but she would bear his stories close to heart, for he was a storyteller, a bard, a collector of histories around the British Isles._

 _'A distinguishing mark is given to each soul to guide them on their path to true love. Remember child, find thy pair, and thou willst find thy heart. I wish upon thee as much happiness as thy mother and I have found in each other's arms.'_

 _He turned her palm over to show her the small shape of her bird, revealing his own mark on his collarbone to be a book. Helena thought it suited him. It suited Rowena too, although she was too busy teaching at Hogwarts, where Helena would soon attend, to read much with her daughter any more._

* * *

Rowena had been convinced it was an eagle, the same as her friend Hengist of Woodcroft. Hengist was a good man with a solid income and high standing - the perfect man one could wish for one's daughter.

Helena, needless to say, did not wish to marry a man twice her age, but as Rowena was the wise, the sage, the knowledgeable, no one had listened to her own cries for help. Her father was no longer around to have her mother see reason, and the wedding ceremony had been planned without her.

* * *

 _When Helena turned twenty, she knew what it was she wanted to do with her life. She would write down people's stories, their hopes, their dreams, their aspirations. She would collect them and capture them with her words, as her father had once before her. She would cherish them with her heart, since she had given up long ago on being with her true love._

 _After all, when Helena put a person's tale to words within her books, she felt as though she had captured a small part of that person's soul. This was not a thing to take lightly, and she felt an anxious fluttering of her heart when she imagined all of the tales faded into darkness._

* * *

Now, Helena had brought a blank book, her quill, her ink - the tools of her future trade. That was all she needed to make a difference, to find the lost and the hidden and bring them to the light. There was no room for failure.

A shout brought her out of her thoughts. She stood up, wary as to who it could be, prepared to jump into the water and swim for her belongings. Spotting the figure on the shore, she sighed in relief.

It was only Septimus.

He had come after all.

* * *

 _Helena had written the stories whilst Septimus lived them. Brimming with ambition, he wanted to travel the world, to do something, to be something other than the wealth and the name his family brought him_.

* * *

Helena could already see their future in her mind's eye, roaming the world before settling down and telling their grandchildren of their own tale, their own story, making sure that they knew what love was. She would remind her own children that it was good to have dreams, to love, to laugh, and never impose the choice upon them. She would give them a warm childhood, unlike the cold upbringing of her own mother.

* * *

 _Helena was seven years old when she first met Septimus. They went adventuring in the forest, in the creeks, until Septimus fell from a tree he was scouting from and tore his shirt in two._

 _Helena had rushed to his side to staunch the bleeding sustained from the branches, only to notice the hawk in the middle of his back, identical to the one on her wrist. At the time she had found it intriguing, a secret that tightened the bonds between them._

 _It was not until her fifteenth birthday that her mother had banned her from seeing him, warning her against those placed in Slytherin, their evil nature and blood prejudice._

 _Septimus had been her only friend, and yet still she had been so lonely._


	8. A Chance Meeting

**Romance Awareness Month: You can feel pain when your soulmate feels pain.**

 **Hogwarts Assignment #2 - Performing Arts. Task #3: Trope: runaway.**

 **Song Lyrics Challenge: "I said that smoking was my only vice"**

 **Gobstone: red - summer**

 **Extra prompts: (spell) "Nox", (emotion) envy, (colour) maroon.**

* * *

' _Nox_ ,' Helena whispered as she emerged from the forest.

The city lights were in sight and lit the road well enough without needing to use her wand. Hefting her sack higher on her back, she picked up her skirts and made her way down the path.

Nodding to the guards at the gates, she strode confidently into the city - despite the fact that she had absolutely no idea where she was going. She had learnt that it was better to give the appearance of confidence, instead of waiting for it to come.

In any case, she had no intention of going back home. Rowena Ravenclaw was a hard person to live with, and an even harder person to please. Try as she might, Helena knew that she would always remain her mother's lost cause - bright enough, but not the brightest, witty, but not clever, and certainly not the daughter Rowena had been expecting. It was easier to live up to her deceptions than try to meet her expectations.

Spotting the swinging door of an inn, she rearranged her hair and plastered a smirk on her face as she walked in. Sitting down at a free table, she surveyed the inn's occupants.

There was a group of young men playing cards in one corner. Watching them laugh as they placed bets and jostled one another, she felt a pang of envy. How she would have wished to have a laughing childhood, free of the responsibilities her mother foisted upon her in her youth. When asked why Helena couldn't join the others in their games, Rowena would reply that her daughter was better than that, that she had so much potential that wouldn't be squandered on something as meaningless as games.

Helena had tried running away once before. It was the summer after her graduation at Hogwarts and she had made the mistake of seeming too eager. The innkeeper had brought her back to her mother in no time. No one wanted to cross the illustrious Rowena Ravenclaw.

This summer, she had planned her voyage well. She would not leave an easy magical trace, ruling out Floo and Apparition. She had chanced a few simple spells, simply because she knew her mother overlooked their signatures - too many wizards used " _Lumos"_ and " _Nox"_ in the same areas for that kind of analysis to be of use. She would also not make the mistake of looking over excited or nervous. Those were sure signs of a runaway.

A movement in front of her drew her out of her thoughts. A man had sat opposite her, around her mother's age with the scars to prove that he had survived the streets through less than noble means. Helena twitched her lips into a smile that resembled a grimace and glanced over to the innkeeper. He was busy serving portions of stew three tables away, whereas the barmaid was filling pints of ale.

Neither had noticed Helena yet.

Deciding that she would swallow her pride and feign tiredness to get a room quickly, Helena started to slide off the bench, only to be met with the sight of another man leering at her, a dagger badly hidden in his hand.

'Good evening gentlemen.' Helena tried her best to sound calm, but a small waver betrayed her.

'Looks like we've found ourselves a rich little runaway,' the first man sneered, grinning at her. 'Don't you worry lass, we'll teach you the ways of the street.'

'Ye start off by handing us all yer gold,' the second man added in what he must have thought was a helpful voice. 'Then ye run home back ter yer ma.'

'I don't think that will be happening tonight,' Helena bravely answered.

If she gave them all her gold, she was as good as dead. It was too late to turn back now, and yet if she had no gold she wouldn't survive her night in the city, wand or not.

'Looks like this one's got a mouth on 'er,' the first one said in surprise, before lowering his voice. 'Mayhaps we'll take more 'an just yer gold.'

'Mayhaps yer'll change yer mind,' the second man added, sliding closer. Helena felt the prick of a knife slide between the folds of her robes, pushed deep enough to draw blood.

'Mayhaps you'll learn one day how to treat a lady properly.'

This did not come from either of Helena's assailants, but from a new man who had one hand on the table, the other holding a drawn wand.

'Septimus,' the leering man said in deference. 'Dint know ye'd be 'ere tonight, did we? We'll be going.'

'I don't think so,' "Septimus" answered. ' _Stupefy!_ '

Red light sent the two men slumping in their seats in quick succession, the dagger falling out of the second man's hand to scrape against Helena's belly. She winced in pain, but kept her face straight.

'Bill! Over here,' Septimus called, motioning to the barkeeper. 'How many times have I told thee not to let these ruffians in?'

'Ever so sorry sir,' the barman scraped low. 'I dint notice 'em come in. Molly!' He waved over to the barmaid. 'Clean this up will you? And let's have the best for sir Septimus and his lady friend.'

The two thieves were replaced by Septimus, who sat next to Helena on the bench, but had one leg swung over each side so he could face her. Helena supposed that he was handsome in a conventional way, with a strong jawline and hair styled in the latest fashion. He was smoking a pipe of some sort, a smirk omnipresent on his face.

'I could have handled myself quite on my own.' Helena felt the need to defend herself. 'I certainly don't intend to replace two ruffians with one more dangerous one.'

'And here I thought thou wouldst comment on my spellcasting,' Septimus replied in a wounded tone. 'Wilt thou not thank thy saviour?'

'As I have previously mentioned, I believe that I did not need saving,' Helena said haughtily.

'Thank thy host, then, for I have just ordered thee a free meal. That is not something to be taken lightly.'

Helena found herself smiling a little at this clever man, ruffian or no.

'Indeed,' she agreed. 'Very well, with whom do I have the pleasure of sharing my meal?'

'Baron Septimus, at thy service,' he waved his pipe in an elaborate imitation of a bow. 'Also known as thy guardian angel.'

'Thou art smoking a pipe,' Helena pointed out.

'Ah, but smoking is my only vice,' the man quipped back, before leaning on his elbows. 'And whom might thou be, my fair lady?'

'And who is to say that I am a lady?' Helena responded.

'Thou didst not flinch when I mentioned my title,' Septimus noted. 'And a simple woman would not travel with such fine fabrics.'

'It appears that I still have much to learn,' Helena murmured. Suddenly, she didn't feel like bantering any more. A wave of tiredness hit her, most likely from her nighttime journey. 'If thou wouldst be so kind as to excuse me, I must rest.'

Noticing the change of tone, Septimus didn't insist, but simply stood up to let her pass.

'Thou mayst make use of my rooms,' he offered. 'I have errands to run in the city for a while yet.'

'That is kind, but-'

Helena tried to get up, but gasped as she fell forwards, only to be gently caught by soft hands.

'I did not see before,' Septimus said, his eyes widening. 'Thou art hurt. Please, let me help in any way I can. My tutors taught me a little of healing charms, if thou wouldst but lie on the bench.'

'My mother…' Helena trailed off.

Rowena was a powerful healer, but Helena was too proud to run back to her like a dog with its tail between its legs. Just then, she realised that her wound did not hurt anymore. Pushing her robes to the side, she saw that her dress had a tear in the side, but the skin beneath was smooth and unblemished. She hadn't heard Septimus speak the incantation though.

Frowning, she looked up at him, only to catch him in her arms in turn. His maroon vest was slowly turning darker on one side.

 _It cannot be,_ she thought.

'This… this cut was deeper than I thought,' he coughed. 'I must sit back down, rest…'

'Never fear,' Helena replied. Her suspicions would have to be laid to rest for the moment. 'She taught me well.'

Placing her wand over the wound, she murmured the necessary healing spells, hesitating for only a minute before she repaired and cleaned his vest.

'Thank you,' the baron replied, the colour returning to his face. 'Next time, thou shouldst say if thou art hurt. What if I had not been here? What wouldst thou have done?'

'I don't know,' Helena whispered. 'But I know this - had I handled the situation on my own, I would not have met my soulmate, a meeting so rare and legendary that I believed the histories to be nothing but fairy tales.'

'Soulmate?' Septimus furrowed his brow.

'There are wizards whose magical energy is in tune to the point where their magic can sense the vibrations of the owners' feelings and emotions. Thy energy must have sensed mine own diminish and attempted to rectify the problem,' Helena replied, blushing.

'Oh,' Septimus looked slightly disappointed. 'I thought a soulmate was one's one true love.'

'That is a common misconception,' Helena laughed. 'The term simply refers to the shared magical energy. If trained properly, we could harness one another's energy to create spells others could only dream of.'

'So thou willst be staying here a little longer?' Septimus asked, his eyes lighting up. 'For research purposes.'

Something tugged at Helena's heart, something foreign, something new. _It could not hurt,_ she thought, _to hide from Mother in plain sight. If only for research purposes. If only for… something new._


	9. Of Secret Passageways and Bowtruckles

Gosbstone Event - Silver stone: Reunion

Optional Prompts: Hufflepuff Common Room, Witch Weekly magazine, Bowtruckle toy

Romance Awareness Month: You realise someone's your soulmate when you touch them.

Optional prompt: reunion

Serendipity Day: write about a chance encounter.

* * *

It was the Founder's Reunion Party - as the town criers were calling it - and Hogwarts was filled with witches and wizards of all ages. Godric Gryffindor had returned after completing a five year quest with the young but promising wizard Merlin, and his three friends were celebrating his return. The school was open to all four Founders' friends and colleagues, as well as returning students.

For eight year old Helena, the joyous occasion was not so festive. So far she had gotten lost five times and tripped over three staircases. A painting had even laughed at her, saying that the daughter of one of the Founders should know better.

Well, Helena thought, crossing her arms and pulling one of her best scowls. I don't live here, unlike that stuffy old monk. Easy for him to say. Plus he can just go off and play with the other portraits. I'm stranded in this place until Mam remembers that I exist!

She ventured down a corridor on the ground floor, hoping to find the library her mother boasted of. Apparently it had hundreds and hundreds of books, as far as the eye could see! Now that would be something worth having a party for, not loud and smelly Godric Gryffindor.

As she turned the corridor, she realised that she had come to a dead end. There was nothing there except a few rotten old barrels. Sighing to herself, Helena decided to jump on one of the barrels and kick her legs against the side as she planned her next move. What she hadn't planned on was the end wall swinging open like a door.

Opening her mouth in shock, Helena jumped down, making sure Twiggy - her Bowtruckle toy - was safely secured in her pocket. He had been the only toy her mother had given her, probably so that Helena could get used to handling delicate objects. Twiggy would snap and squeal if one held him too tightly.

Once Twiggy was firmly in place, Helena decided to go exploring. Maybe this was the secret library? After all, if Helena had helped build the school, she would have created a secret place where one could read books in peace.

Much to her dismay, the room didn't contain any books. It did, however, have several squishy armchairs and sofas that Helena had to try out. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, and the room was decorated in warm copper hues. There were no sharp angles in the room, only round arches and circular doorways leading into unknown rooms. Before Helena could explore a little more, she heard a scuffle at the door.

Looking around, she was met with the sight of a slight boy of about five, wearing clothes too big for his body. He had dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. He seemed to be looking for something, since his gaze roamed the floor. Eventually, he looked up and saw Helena staring at him.

'Who art thou?' he asked, his vowels polished in a way Rowena would approve of.

'I'm Helena Ravenclaw,' Helena replied, affronted that he hadn't recognised her immediately. After all, her mother was one of the four distinguished hosts of the event. 'The real question be who art thou?'

'Septimus, at thy service, my lady,' the boy dropped into a deep bow.

Helena decided that she liked this polite little boy.

'What be thou doing in this place?' she asked. 'Were thy parents at Hogwarts?'

'My parents be far too aged to have learned magic here,' Septimus shook his head. 'Three of my siblings are educated here at the moment.'

'Three?' Helena asked incredulously. 'Why, what a ridiculous amount of people! How doth thou find peace and solitude with so many siblings?'

'I do not,' the boy replied unhappily. 'I have six siblings in total, and Alfred and Claire are allowed to eat my food if I am not quick enough, since they plan on joining the Quidditch team at Hogwarts. Might I inquire as to where the kitchens are located?'

Helena felt a twinge of pity for Septimus. Her mother's presence might be oppressive at times, but she always had enough to eat. Now that she looked closely, he seemed to be more around her own age, rather than younger. He was merely skinnier.

'I do not know,' she replied regretfully, wishing that she had studied her mother's blueprints of the castle before the party.

Her hand went to her pocket to stroke Twiggy. Suddenly, she had an idea, though she hesitated in acting upon it. Looking at Septimus's woeful face, she decided it was time she be magnanimous.

'Here,' she said grandly, taking Twiggy from his safe nest. 'Taketh Twiggy. He may not be edible, but he has helped me in times of distress and… well, he may be of aid to thee as well. Be careful, though!'

Slowly, almost reverently, Septimus reached for the small Bowtruckle toy. His fingers inadvertently brushed Helena's as he did so, sending a jolt of electricity down Helena's palm and to her wrist.

Their eyes met, and Helena realised that Septimus had felt the same thing. She didn't know what it was, only that she had a renewed desire to help him find the kitchens. Had she read her mother's "Witch Weekly" magazines - only present in the Ravenclaw household because Rowena had decided to try her hand at cooking - she would have realised that this particular feeling was described intimately and accurately under the "soulmate" section.

In the meantime, Helena only knew that the library could wait. She had a new subject to study, and his name was Septimus.


	10. Wherever You Will Go

**Romance Awareness Month - You share the same talents as your soulmate.**

 **Extra prompt: "Do you have something to say?"**

" **It was like shooting a sitting duck."**

 **Copper Stone: Failure.**

 **Extra prompts: (word) "Stranded", (song) "Roses and Violets", (dialogue) "you're breaking my heart"**

 **Hogwarts Birthday Pinata: Angst.**

* * *

'Enter,' Rowena Ravenclaw called.

Septimus stopped wringing his hands and straightened up. He had never spoken to the Ravenclaw Head, save the few times where he had a question in class, or was called to answer. To have her summon him as she was rumoured to be on her deathbed… he had no idea what to expect.

He walked through the door to find the middle-aged witch reclining in a chair. If he hadn't known better, he would say that she was the picture of health. As it was, he realised that her every move was calculated to cost the least amount of energy, from the way her elbow rested on the armrest, to the hand posed pensively under her chin.

'Thou knowst wherefore I called thee?' she presumed, the question a rhetorical one.

'Um… Actually, I do not,' Septimus admitted.

'What, Baron, doth thou thinketh we have in common?' she asked, her tone derisive. 'In every class thou matched my daughter eye for eye, tooth for tooth. In every O.W.L., in every N.E.W.T., there thee were, dogging her footsteps like a hyena stalks its prey. Even now, as my daughter walks thousands of leagues from here, I still feel her heart close by. It pains me to admit it, for I wished a trustworthy companion for my daughter, but thou art her soulmate.'

Septimus could easily have told Rowena that himself. He had realised it when he mentioned that he had some skill with the flute, and Helena had looked wide-eyed back at him, professing to have the exact same talent. It happened again, when they both failed to make a Polyjuice Potion, and again, when both discovered that they had a knack for translating Ancient Runes.

After that, Helena had avoided him, for fear of losing her sense of self. She had spent her childhood in her mother's shadow; she would not spend her adult life in the shadow of a wealthy man, no matter how her heart yearned for him.

And Septimus knew that she yearned for him. As sure as roses were red and violets were blue, he would forever be in love with Helena Ravenclaw. In her heart of hearts she must have known, but love wasn't enough for his soulmate. It had never been enough.

'Well?' Rowena demanded, impatient with his silence. 'Doth thou have something to say?'

'Forgive me, my lady,' Septimus gave a short bow. 'I was merely processing thy words. I fear that I still do not fully comprehend that which thou wisheth of me.'

'Simply put, I am dying, Baron,' Rowena looked away, towards the window. 'And I wish to see my only child one last time. I fear for her; that she may be isolated, stranded in the unknown with only her pride preventing her from returning to me. If thou were to retrieve her, to convince her, she would be able to return and keep her honour.'

'Thou wishest that _I_ retrieve Helena?' Septimus couldn't help the words tumbling from his mouth. Three of his brothers had joined Morgana in practicing the Dark Arts, and Rowena Ravenclaw had never trusted his family, let alone given him permission to court her. 'Wherefore?'

'Because I fear that thou art the only one who can,' Rowena replied wearily. 'Thou know'st how the mind of my daughter works and hast her heart. Thou art the only one who would know where she went, and who she trusts enough to bring her back.'

* * *

The days were lengthening into summer when Septimus found the inn where Helena was staying, in a remote Albanian forest that would surprise anyone who knew her. She had always preferred the bustle of cities, all the better to observe human behaviour. No one would think twice about looking for her here.

Only Septimus could have known, for he held within his hand a letter from three years past, the parchment worn at the folds where he had opened and reopened it over the years. She had told him where she was going and warned him not to follow. Septimus had given her her space - he knew that they were someday meant to be together.

But Rowena was right. Septimus was sick of waiting, sick of not hearing her laugh, seeing her hair shine in the sun. It was time for her to come home. He believed that the distance apart had only reinforced his feelings, and if the intricacies of soulmate magic was true, then Helena would be feeling the same effects.

'How camest thou hither?' a melodic voice sounded from behind him.

Septimus turned, to be met with the sight of his love, her hair swaying in the wind, her cloak the same forest green as the trees. His heart leapt at the sight of her, but her face remained impassive, resolute.

'It was as shooting a sitting duck,' he quipped, holding up the letter. 'I know thee better than thou knowest thyself.'

'Be as that may,' Helena pursed her lips. 'I told thee never to come hither. I need more time, to think, to find how I may make a name of myself yet, and not hence be known as "Baron Septimus's wife".'

'Thy time be wearing thin,' Septimus took a step forwards. 'Thy mother hath fallen ill. Her heart is broken, and thou art breaking mine as well. Willst thou not permit me to help thee findeth a solution to this problem?'

'No,' Helena's face was set, making her look even more like her mother than before. 'I vowed never to return without first succeeding in a profession, and I will hold myself to that vow.'

'This is folly!' Septimus cried. 'Will thy ambition prevent thee from seeing thy mother one last time. It may be too late! And if thy ambitions never come to fruition, what becometh of us? Shall we remain separated for as long as we shall live?'

'If needs must,' Helena replied coldly, turning away. 'I thought thou of all minds wouldst understand. I fear that the Founders may have mis-Sorted thee.'

'Helena, do not walk away!' Septimus drew his sword. He did not know why exactly, only that there was the vague idea that he could intimidate her into returning.

'And now we see,' Helena smirked, turning back. 'It seems that my mother was correct about one thing. Thy temper will always have the better of thee. Thou art unpredictable, dangerous. A union between the two of us would never come to be.'

Septimus knew she was baiting him, angering him so that he would give up. Still, that did not stop her words from stinging.

'We are soulmates,' he replied in frustration. 'We are meant to be, one way or another. Thou must return, I beg of thee.'

She stared at him for a second, love and pain warring for dominance in her grey eyes. Eventually, she turned away; hastening back to the forest and whatever work she had planned.

 _She will not escape so easily,_ Septimus vowed to himself, leaping over the stone in his path to join her. As his momentum prompted him to run forwards to catch up, Helena abruptly stopped, turning around.

Her eyes widened, shock clearly visible. Her mouth opened as if to say something, but only a strangled sound escaped her lips. Septimus felt the tears running down his face. He had not meant for the sword to catch her robes, for his momentum to slide it between her ribs, but it seemed that fate had a plan in store.

Helena would never surpass her mother's name. Rowena would never see her daughter again. And Septimus would never spend his life with his true love.

That last thought was too much to bear. If Septimus could not be with Helena in life, then he would be her soulmate in death, following her wherever she might go. He barely felt the pain as the sword pierced his own heart, instead fixing his eyes on Helena's lifeless grey orbs. Somehow, he would find a way to be with her.


	11. Broken Dreams and Blessed Sevens

**Hogwarts Assignment #2: Charms - Spell Classification.**

 **Task #1: Write a story in which the number 7 has a specific significance.**

 **Romance Awareness Month - Seeing through soulmate's eyes**

 **Gobstones Event - Purple stone: ambition**

" **One Love" Marianas Trench, popsicle, foot tapping.**

 **Treasure Hunt: electric**

* * *

 _ **Warning for child abuse (not explicit)**_

* * *

' _Helena! Helena, where at thou? Did thou not request a bedtime story before retiring for the night?'_

' _I did, I did, I did!' I bounce on the bed, excited for more stories about adventures and magic and invention._

 _The covers are warm and fluffy, a deep blue in colour. My room is circular and looks over the Scottish highlands. The ups and downs of the mountains and valleys bring a strange sensation to my chest, a feeling that I can do anything, be anyone. The world is filled with possibilities._

' _Helena, art thou even listening?' A tall woman with a strict demeanour and soft eyes looks down on me. 'I will not read if I am merely wasting time.'_

' _No, I want to hear about Babbity Rabbity!' I cry out, although I've never heard of Babbity Rabbity before in my life._

* * *

Septimus woke up in sweat, clutching his sheets between his small fists. But his sheets were not warm and fluffy, nor were they blue. Instead, they were an ivory satin, aesthetically pleasing, but not winter-friendly for a boy of five. Luckily, the house-elf had kept the fire going, so he slipped out of bed into his slippers, curling up before the warm hearth.

His room was not circular, with windows that overlooked the Scottish mountains, but square, with a view of his mother's rose garden. It was big, too big, with not enough furniture to fill the void. He knew better than to complain though. The Baron of York had no use for such frivolities.

It was a very strange dream, he concluded. But it had felt so real.

* * *

When Septimus was seven years old, his father decided to put him to the Squib test. _The Rosiers are a pure and proud family,_ the Baron had reminded him. _If you are a true Rosier, then you have nothing to fear_. The practice had been put in place a long time ago, so long ago that Septimus had barely been born.

The two eldest children of the Baron of York had avoided this particular family ritual, as both had demonstrated their powers earlier in life. But the Baron had grown worried when Threia still hadn't used an ounce of magic at the age of seven - the most magical number of all. He threw her from the window into the lake below and she had shot back up into the air and landed by her father's side. Apparently, the household had feasted for three nights.

As for the twins, Tessara and Pentus, Septimus could barely remember them. He was barely two harvests of age when they disappeared, but the house-elves still muttered amongst themselves about the foul practices of wizards - though never in the presence of the Baron and his wife.

Only last summer, Sexta had passed the test. Septimus had a vivid memory of his sister floating over a roaring bonfire, held by a mere _Wingardium Leviosa_ , until she had screamed for the fire to go out. Seconds later, the flames were extinguished, and Septimus's father was giving his youngest daughter one of his rare bear hugs.

Now it was Septimus's turn.

'Begone now, dear,' his mother pushed him gently out of the door. 'We shall wait for thee at the waystone.'

The waystone was a great large rock inscribed with Ancient Runes three leagues from the Rosier Manor. _Surely there is some trap,_ Septimus thought. _T'is not so far a distance to travel on foot._

The sound of howls confirmed his fears. His feet picked up the pace, as his father's hunting hounds ran after him. Baron Rosier bred his dogs to kill with no quarter.

* * *

' _But mother,' I whine lightly. 'I do not wish to play with other children. I wish to read, to learn from thee and father, for the minds of children are small and their ambitions petty. What could I possibly have in common with them?'_

 _The stern lady's blue eyes filled with amusement and pity. 'They may yet surprise thee, my dear. Thou hast lingered too long amongst books and paper. I wish for thee to gain a little colour in thy cheeks.'_

' _No!' I shout, stamping my feet. 'Thou dost simply not want me here. I will show thee my worth, and then thou must allow me to read the books on the topmost shelf.'_

' _I will make a deal with thee, my love,' the woman kneels down to my level. 'Go and be thy own age for once, and I shall grant thee access.'_

 _Instead of thanking the woman, I rush outside. My long curls are hot against the summer heat, and I tie them with a silver ribbon. I glance back towards the country home, before bringing the hidden book from my pocket. It is an advanced copy of the Charms Curriculum at Hogwarts. I recognise it from my sister's trunk. She is twelve and I am seven, but I feel closer to Threia than any of my other siblings._

 _I realise that my dreams are not just dreams, but something else. Are they a prophesy? A vision? If I were a Seer, mother would be proud. She is of the Trelawney line, famed for their female Seers. But father would see it as unmanly, and I fear that he will beat me for it. As these thoughts whirl through my mind, I feel something tugging at my subconscious, bringing me out of whatever memory this is._

* * *

'Septimus? Septimus, canst thou hear me?'

An image of Threia slowly blurred into view as she roughly shook Septimus's thin shoulders. When she realised that he was awake, she breathed a sigh of relief, sitting back onto her heels.

'Where am I?' he asked, rubbing at his eyes. His head hurt and his tongue felt like sandpaper.

'In the dining room,' Threia replied. 'Mother is preparing thy favourite food. Thou hast done well today, Septimus. Father is pleased. Tomorrow, he shall brag to his friends about his youngest child who can conjure a Shield Charm without the aid of a wand.'

Septimus breathed a sigh of relief. So he was magical, after all. He had always known, of course, but it was one thing to make feathers float and another to survive the Squib Test.

'Say,,' Threia said as helped him up the stairs to his room, 'seven is a magical number. That's why mother and father wished to have seven children. Thou art special, Septimus, that is for certain, and thou shouldst have more power than the rest of us combined. Sleep well, dear brother.'

She kissed him on his forehead, leaving him to wonder why his sister felt the need to reassure him once the test was already over.

* * *

Septimus awoke with a yell on the eve of his tenth birthday. He shot to his feet, catching a glance of himself in the ornate mirror in his sister's room. His face was as white as fresh parchment, matching the frailty that he felt in his limbs.

'It's all right, Septimus,' Threia called sleepily, her voice echoing oddly in the half-light. 'Come back to bed.'

But Septimus wasn't all right.

 _Imperio!_ His father's voice echoed in his mind. Septimus hadn't known there were more tests. Tests of resilience, of strength of character, of body and of mind. All to make sure that Septimus would be the best of his year at Hogwarts, to make sure that he did the Rosier name proud.

Septimus was sick of the Rosier name. He wished for the sunny life of Helena, for her kind father and her caring mother. Helena would have answered back, would have resisted the curse. Septimus was getting to know her now, as he saw what she saw, said what she said.

'I think I'll return to my own room, if that's all right, sister mine,' he replied eventually.

A candle was pressed into his hand, illuminating the sad blue eyes so like his own.

'It will get better,' Threia said, her words hollow. 'I promise.'

Instead of replying, Septimus turned, leaving the image of his sister in a dim room with a fading light. If looked at her just right, she almost looked like Helena. But Helena was warm and filled with a sharp wit, whereas Threia was a silhouette of what she ought to be, broken in a way that Septimus might have been had he not his visions to give him hope.

Reaching his own room, Septimus eagerly settled in between the covers to find out how his dream girl fared.

* * *

 _I'm going to Hogwarts tomorrow!' I spin around excitedly. 'I can't wait for my classes to start. I have to be the best in all of them! Will I be able to make my own spells, mother?'_

' _One day, little lady,' Rowena says distractedly. 'Speak with your father, it's a very busy day for me.'_

 _I feel my face drop for a fraction of a second, before turning from Helena's mother's study. I glance back, but the woman is still scratching at parchment, books stacked around her. She has had less and less time for me, going to Hogwarts for the better part of the year and leaving her daughter and husband alone._

 _I wish I could call out to Helena, to tell her that her mother isn't so bad, that there is worse and that Rowena merely wants the best for her. But she can never hear me, feel me, no matter how I try. She is as a phantom, a ghost that I see in the dark and who disappears for the day._

 _We spend the rest of the day with Helena's father, making plans to visit the world, to find the stories that he hasn't and write about the people who live them. We pick raspberries and Helena crushes them between our hands and freezes them with a whisper into cones of icy red. Her father takes one with an expression of wonder and tentatively puts it in his mouth. I can see the juices dribble down his chin and ache for the sweet goodness I know they must be tasting._

 _She wants to have adventures, to see it all, to be_ different _to the rest. I wish i could tell her that different isn't always best. I wish that I could pick fruits with my siblings and make ice-sweets of them without a care in the world._

 _Still, her ambitions give me hope. Without her, I would never look beyond the next beating, the next day I must survive. I would be like Threia, but instead I am growing stronger. Her ambitions give me hopes and dreams of my own - that I will be able to break free my sister from our father's grasp._

 _My two older brothers are fine, but Threia has already been promised to a Black, pure of blood but black of heart, and I fear that it will be the end of her. I read with Helena in the night, memorising the contents of her books so as to gain the power I will need to attain my goals._

* * *

Septimus saw her with his own eyes for the first time at the Sorting Ceremony. He hadn't imagined her to be so _breathtakingly beautiful_.

She tapped her foot impatiently against the stool, answering the four Founders with as much patience as she could manage. Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw seemed to argue for a while before they asked Helena a question. She responded, and her mother called out her House with the aid of a _Sonorus_ charm.

Helena threw her hair behind her shoulder and marched from the stool to the blue and copper table with her shoulders set square, determination in her eyes.

Septimus may have only been eleven years of age, but he knew in his heart that he had fallen irrevocably in love. Her passion for life had sustained him through the years, and seeing her in the flesh sent an electric jolt straight to his heart. He had to see her, to meet her, to ask if she had seen her life as he had watched her own.

That thought brought him up straight. _What if she has seen what I have seen?_ Suddenly, the idea of meeting her seemed appealing no longer

* * *

It was the seventh time they had rounds together that Septimus decided to confess his feelings to Helena. They had been Prefects together for the better part of two months, yet they had rarely spoken to each other. What prompted him, he couldn't say, though Threia would tell him that seven was a special number, the most magical of all, and that the stars were aligned for a positive reception.

'My sister will be twenty harvests of age on the morrow,' he blurted out, wondering where his carefully thought out sentences had gone.

'I know,' she replied quietly.

'She will be married at dawn,' Septimus added, unable to stop himself from voicing his worries.

'I know,' Helena repeated.

Septimus stopped in his tracks.

'You know?' he asked. His worst fears were confirmed. 'Then… do you…?'

'I have had visions of thy past for as long as I can recall,' Helena replied evenly. 'I asked my mother of it, but she would not answer. After looking for the information in the Restricted Section, I found that soulmates with particularly powerful abilities are able to share minds if one is undefended.'

'Yet thou hast not spoken to me…'

'I felt as though I were intruding on… something of a very personal nature,' Helena's cheeks coloured, a pink blush spreading over her ivory skin. 'I knew not how to approach thee.'

Septimus felt… cheated. He had expected a great spark, a confession of love. Not a clinical dissection of their intimate bond. He did not know how to respond, but Helena seemed to sense his unease.

'I have been aware of thy feelings,' she said gently, touching a hand to his arm. 'But I cannot let myself think of love ere I complete my father's work. Thou must know that he died this past summer. I have taken it upon myself to continue his legacy all throughout Europe. All my life, I have wanted to do something _meaningful_ _._ A lovesick maiden would merely become encumbered with children over time.'

Septimus felt tears prick his eyes. He had not expected his soulmate to be so cold and calculating, though he had seen her razor sharp wit and cutting words on several occasions already.

'Well,' his voice caught in his throat as he turned away. 'I suppose that settles the matter, then.'

'Wait,' Helena tightened her grip. 'If thou wouldst permit it, I would like us to become… friends. Thou hast thy own goal of freeing thy eldest sister. If thou wouldst become thy father's favourite, inherit his title… thou mightest save Threia yet.'

It wasn't the romantic encounter that Septimus had dreamed of ever since setting foot in Hogwarts. But he believed that one only had one true love, and that Helena was his. He would not give up on his dream girl so easily, but in order to catch her, he must help her with dreams of her own first.


	12. Strange Happenings

**Romance Awareness Month - You can hear your soulmate's thoughts.**

 **Hogwarts Birthday Jenga: "Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."**

 **Psychic Day: write about someone reading minds.**

* * *

 _That boy is an utter ass,_ Helena thought, one eyebrow raised in disdain.

One of her fellow Ravenclaws, she didn't know his name yet, seemed to be having trouble following the instructions in their Potions class. As a result, his cauldron had blown up, drenching half of the class in the process. Professor Salazar was currently berating the boy, warning him that there could have been severe consequences, had there been something other than boiling water in the cauldron.

 _The stupidity of certain persons never ceases to amaze me._ She shook her head, returning to her own Hiccoughing Solution. Her Potions partner snorted, causing her to look at him sharply.

 _Could he hear me?_ she wondered, before dismissing the thought. _Impossible._

 _Improbable, but not impossible._

The foreign thought invaded her mind, belonging to an unknown voice. Helena started, almost slicing her thumb off in the process. A few heads turned as she banged the table, but they soon went back to their own work.

Her heart beating in her throat, Helena turned to the boy next to her. He was staring at her with his pale blue eyes, a hint of amusement colouring his features. Noting his green robes, Helena set her jaw. She wasn't sure what kind of magic he was using, but it wasn't very nice. And if he wasn't a Ravenclaw, then he was a rival, probably trying to copy her thoughts for a better mark.

 _It is impolite to read the thoughts of a lady without her permission,_ she thought, imitating her mother's haughty tone when speaking to someone of inferior intellect.

 _And how wouldst thou know?_ the teasing voice responded. _Is this a common occurrence with thee?_

 _I know enough about Legilimancy to know that it is not right,_ she replied, trying to concentrate on her potion at the same time.

The boy snatched up the spoon and started stirring, but Helena had already seen the shudder that he had tried to mask. So he _was_ familiar with Legilimancy. Helena wished that she knew more on the subject, but her mother had said that the magic was too advanced for an eleven year old.

 _For thy information,_ the boy said snidely, changing the subject. _Thy potions are of such an abhorrent state that I would not wish to copy thy work even if I wanted to._

 _Then why art thou reading my thoughts?_ Helena asked immediately.

There was a short pause.

 _I do not know…_ the boy admitted. _I do not mean to, but thy voice rings in my mind as clear as a bell._

 _And thou art not a natural Legilimens?_ Helena probed.

The boy's expression turned sour. _If I were, then I would do anything in my power to be rid of that accursed power._

Helena was seized with curiosity at the venom within his words. Still, she knew better than to pry.

 _What is thy name?_ she asked instead, trying for a friendly approach.

The boy hesitated before replying. _Septimus. No need to introduce thyself, I know that thou art Helena, daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw, founder of Hogwarts._

This time it was Helena's turn to grimace. _If we are to be friends, then I would advise thee to refrain from mentioning my relation to my mother._

 _Why ever not?_ Septimus asked, bottling their potion. It was by no means the best of the lot, but it was passable.

Helena hesitated, wondering how she could explain her feelings. _It's complicated._

 _Say no more,_ Septimus met her eyes, placing a hand on her own. _I know how it is to have a trying family life._

Helena smiled. She had only just met this boy, and whilst the thought communication could be a bother when she wanted some privacy, it could also have its advantages. They could always research the topic and find a way to create a barrier when they did not wish to intrude. _Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same._

 _Thou art poetic, for a Ravenclaw,_ Septimus noted. Helena frowned. She hadn't meant to think that so clearly. _But my feelings are the same,_ he added quickly. _Whatever this strange connection is, I'm glad it happened with a person such as thou._


	13. Star Crossed Lovers

**Romance Awareness Month -** **You remember your soulmate from your past lives and search for them**

* * *

 _A flash of black hair, the sound of laughter._

 _Falling in love with the noble's daughter._

 _But what is love, if it cannot be?_

 _What am I, if you are without me?_

* * *

Septimus tossed and turned in his four poster bed. His seventeenth birthday was seven days past and since he had been plagued with half-dreams and restless memories that did not belong to him.

Giving up on slumber, he slipped on his robe and silently exited the dormitory, careful not to wake his roommates. In the Common Room, he lowered himself into the armchair by the fire, rubbing his forehead tiredly with the pads of three fingers. What did it mean? What were his dreams trying to tell him? He felt as though he were grasping at straws, and yet he could not shake the feeling that the visions were not to be dismissed lightly.

* * *

 _Always waiting, always watching_

 _Heaven forbid he try something_

 _A barrier of nations lay before them_

 _War cutting of the rose of love's stem_

* * *

Septimus was a man of means. His two older brothers had succumbed to witch trials and pestilence respectively, leaving the youngest son heir to their father's barony.

 _Oh the irony,_ Septimus thought idly as he leafed through another family tome. He could research his dreams at his leisure, now that his father had died of illness and old age. For the past few moons, he had tried to piece together his family history, to find out whether his memories belonged to his ancestors. His efforts had been fruitless, mostly due to lack of information, until now. Leaning close, he lit the page with his wand.

 _When a first daughter of a seventh son, or the seventh son of a first daughter reaches the age of maturity, they will receive a magical gift, though some may name it curse. Memories of their past lives will come to them, showing them their greatest desire. This has oft' led to great magical discoveries among scholars who have the knowledge of several lifetimes, or prowess in duelling as warriors' bodies remember the reflexes of past battles._

 _Most rare of all belongs to the greatest and purest of magics - love itself. It is said that those with the gift of love have a greater chance at finding their soulmates through the experience of their past selves, as their true love will always bear the same physical characteristics and personality traits as their predecessors._

Septimus leant back, his wand extinguishing itself as it dropped onto the pages. There was no doubt in his mind about what his own powers were referring to. His mother had been the first Shafiq girl in generations, and Septimus had always felt himself different - above the rest of his peers.

There was but one path open to him. He must find this soulmate of his, wherever she may be.

* * *

 _Once, the lovers were blessed by the stars_

 _Free from constraints, free from bars_

 _But such an union was thwarted by fate_

 _For illness and death will make love wait_

* * *

When Septimus was nineteen, he pieced the puzzle together. He had kept a dream diary for the past two years, noting everything of consequence and anything that seemed trivial. He had scoured the archives of every pureblood directory and failing that, persuaded the Founders to lend him the Hogwarts student archives.

He had not expected his soulmate to be a halfblood, but what a halfblood she was! Helena was a Ravenclaw, from strong and clever blood, with the wit and beauty to match. At first she seemed receptive to his advances, but then he had the misfortune to mention her family name and she shied away, refusing all further contact. Septimus had appealed to Rowena, to no avail. He had found his soulmate, but his soulmate did not want him.

* * *

 _For magic gives and magic takes_

 _Where one heals, another breaks_

 _And those that were gifted unique power_

 _Would find it desert them in their greatest hour_

* * *

Septimus kicked at the table in frustration. What had he done wrong? Why did he deserve to be tormented so? What was the use of one true love, if true love was one-sided? How could the fates be so cruel?

His eyes landed on the book he had discovered three years past. _What if I was mistaken? What if there was a different reason for these visions? And failing that, what if there is a way to be rid of them?_

Eagerly, he turned the pages, nearly ripping them in the process. His fingers traced the lines as he reread the pages that had given him so much hope. Noticing a list of poems after the explanations, he read them curiously. They were all of great warriors being defeated in battle, great sages being punished for thinking themselves immortal… and of star crossed lovers, doomed always to cross but never to meet.

* * *

 _The Baron was determined to break destiny_

 _Forever in the pursuit of his Grey Lady_

 _They were not parted, not by sea nor land_

 _Until they both met their death at his hand_


	14. The Power of Poetry

**Romance Awareness Month - you are born with a timer that counts up until you meet your soulmate.**

 **Optional prompt: "We will make time stand still"**

 **Writing Club - Poetry Day**

* * *

 _A dance of love goes on and on_

 _Never ceasing 'till the counter is gone_

 _I was born with a timer on my wrist_

 _Never to stop 'till true love's first kiss_

 _ **.**_

 _I searched for thee all my youth_

 _T'is what I said, and t'is the truth_

 _Ever looking for the wondrous one_

 _To tell me that my time is done_

 _ **.**_

 _And fair thou wast, as I was dark_

 _Upon my heart thou laid thy mark_

 _Thy milky skin as white as the moon_

 _Thy voice such a melodic tune_

 _ **.**_

 _Eleven harvests of age was I_

 _When thy beauty caught my eye_

 _I mustered the entirety of my childish will_

 _And told thee that we'll make time stand still_

 _ **.**_

 _For every soul has a mate_

 _But ne'er was a pair so great_

 _For we hardly had to wait_

 _Before finding the other; and that is fate._

* * *

Helena snorted as she stumbled upon the love poem Septimus had written her halfway through their first year. It was crumpled from the many times she had thrown it in the waste basket, and yet here it was again, hidden in one of her books. Hesitating, she made as if to throw it into the fire. Septimus had never fully understood her, not really.

But as she did so, her eyes fell upon the numerals glowing on the inside of her wrist. _1st September, 11:00._ She had seen Septimus for the first time on Platform 9 ¾, his large family having caught her eye. She remembered him as a solemn, slim little boy, back before his head had swelled from becoming Head Boy.

 _Maybe I should keep it,_ she thought to herself, stowing it in her bag. _Who knows, maybe it will come in useful?_

But Helena knew deep down the reason she couldn't bear to throw the parchment away. The words, lovingly calligraphed by the hand of a moon-struck boy, struck a chord in her heart where she thought she had none. And maybe, just maybe, it would be nice to have a reminder of such warm love, when she would be isolated in the forests of Albania.


	15. A Bitter Heart

**Romance Awareness Month - you see your soulmate in your dreams**

 **Prompt: "I will miss you when I wake up" - I shall miss thee when I awaken**

* * *

Helena added the final ingredient to the potion she had been brewing for over a month - three drops of blood from her left hand.

Her mother wished to marry her off to an old friend of hers, and Helena refused to wed someone twice her age. So Rowena had given her an ultimatum - find her true love before her twenty-second birthday, or accept that her mother knew that which was best for her. After all, it wouldn't do to have the daughter of the illustrious Rowena Ravenclaw an old maid, never mind the fact that she herself had wed at age 30.

But Rowena had underestimated Helena's tenacity. After searching for months, making friends with the oldest pureblood families she could fine and secretly letting herself into the libraries to make copies of their books, she had found an old blood ritual. One that would let her see her soulmate in the sleeping world, even if the image was distorted.

Pouring the solution into a vial, she downed the contents in one, dropping to the floor as she dreamed.

* * *

 _Could this really be the realm of dreams? Helena asked herself. Everything was cloudy, as though draped in a white fog. She squinted at the light, which blinded her and yet did not illuminate her surroundings at all. She had never dreamed such a dream, at least not that she could remember._

 _Holding out her left hand, she noticed that a pathway revealed itself within the mist, and so she followed it into the labyrinth, hoping that the spell wouldn't lead her astray._

* * *

Septimus fell.

He did not know how, nor why. One moment he was sitting down to eat a late supper with his sister, Threia, as her husband had gone out hunting, and the next he was on the floor, his heartbeat sounding in his ears.

'Septimus? Septimus?' His sister shook him, but her voice was fading fast.

 _Has he finally done it?_ Septimus wondered. _Has her husband finally poisoned me, so Threia will inherit the family fortune?_

* * *

 _Helena heard a faint cry from her right. Blurred figures moved around the shape of a table, like phantoms of what people could have been. She could make out no features, not even a the colour of their clothes. One was kneeling by the other, who lay prone on the ground._

 _Could they be my soulmate? She asked herself. But how am I to find them if I cannot even_ see _them? What is the point of my search if only to be confronted with this?_

 _Just as she was about to turn away, the figure on the floor started to become clearer, more cohesive. It started taking shape, forming arms and legs and hair, but the face remained blank._

 _Where am I? It asked, and Helena was surprised to understand the words, though the figure did not appear to speak._

* * *

 _Septimus rose and saw Helena standing before him, like some Dark goddess about to sacrifice him at the altar. His heart clenched, could this be death? It would make sense for fate to cruelly show him one last image of the woman he had always loved, who had ever ignored him, right before the end._

 _But then he felt her voice speaking to him. He did not hear her, rather he felt the words and they felt like her. As though her magical aura had enveloped him somehow, like a guardian angel come to comfort him in his last moments._

 _Thou art not dead yet, she said to him, and suddenly, nothing made sense._

* * *

 _I wished to see my true love, she said. I did not expect thee, though I suppose that I might have guessed._

 _Thy true love? Septimus had long since abandoned all attempt to understand his situation. Thou meanst, that thou willst accept my proposal? After all these years?_

 _I will, she dipped her head. But thou must hurry. Even now, my mother plans my nuptials. I have ever spoken of thee with a heavy heart, so she will not understand our union now. Thou must make the preparations as soon as thou art able. Or else… Or else I shall be married to foul Hengist of Woodcroft._

 _Septimus felt his heart cleave in two. Thou meanst to say that I am but the lesser of two evils. A fate to which thou resigneth thyself, but for which thou holdest no love in thy heart._

 _Helena faltered. He could not see her features amongst the fog, but her aura paled palpably, trembling with shame._

 _Then I will remove my proposal, he said. I cannot stand to have such hope, to have thee so near and yet further away than ever before. At Hogwarts, I commanded thy respect, if not thy affection. I will not throw away such a precious thing, not even for thee._

 _Septimus! Her magic was frenzied now - he had been her last hope. Please! Would thou simply accept my terms and be done with it? I do not love thee now, but perhaps I can learn to, in time…_

 _I will miss thee when I awaken, Septimus cut her off sadly. I am sorry Helena, but I could not live with this burden._

 _But couldst thou live with the knowledge that thou wouldst never see me again? Helena asked, manipulating his emotions as she had always done at school. I must flee if thou doth not accept my offer. Couldst thou live with the knowledge that thou wouldst tear my family apart?_

 _I fear that it is not me who would be the cause of such strife, my lovely lady, Septimus replied._

 _In a fit of rage, Helena pushed at him with all of her magic…_

* * *

And woke up on the floor in her mother's laboratory. She had failed. She had failed miserably, and though she had an inkling that it was her fault, that her heart had hardened to the point that she would not even accept her true love, she brushed that inkling aside. She had bags to pack, an itinerary to plan, work to find.

And if a lone tear rolled down her cheek to the corner of her lip, she did not complain at the salty taste.


	16. The Cursed Maiden

**Romance Awareness Challenge:** **Anything you write on your arm appears on your soulmate's arm.**

 **Bonus prompt: Sea-green**

* * *

Once upon a time there lived a maiden locked in a high, high tower. She was not a very unhappy princess, but nor was she a happy one. She had her books and quills and parchment, with magic to spare. But she had no one to talk to, no one save her mother who worried for her health.

For her mother had been cursed, by an object so foul that even Rowena Ravenclaw, greatest sorceress of the land, could not remove it. Her great friend Salazar Slytherin had halted the evil long enough for Rowena to be cured, but magic always has a price. He disappeared from that day, only to return on the day of Helena's birth to tell her mother of the evil facing her daughter - Helena was prophesied to be killed by the first man she met after her sixteenth birthday.

So Rowena had built a tower of glass and stone, locking Helena away because she was too scared of losing her only child. Helena wanted to learn to fight, to defend herself from this mystery man, because she wouldn't be going down easily. But Rowena had not wanted to take that chance.

So Helena remained in her tower, dreaming of the day she turned seventeen and was free from her prison. She knew that her mother merely wished to protect her, but she had deprived Helena of her father and for that she was unforgivable in her daughter's eyes. But Helena had turned seventeen two days ago, and her mother had not returned.

A cloud passed over the sun, obscuring Helena's view of the land. Idly, she turned back to her loneliness, taking up a quill of sky-blue ink and writing on her arm. Her mother had not been back for days, and there was no parchment left for Helena's thoughts.

 _Is anyone out there? What lies beyond the snow-topped mountains and river-filled valleys? How, I wonder, does the sea breeze smell? The calling of the albatross is merely a figment of my imagination, for no book can adequately describe all five senses._

Sighing, Helena watched as the letters faded into her skin. She wondered what kind of spell her mother had cast upon her to prevent Helena from inking her skin. _Does she expect me to kill myself, to harm myself beyond the point of relief?_

It had been a tempting thought, a few years past. But Helena had buried herself within her studies, promising herself that there was not long to go. Now, she felt as though she would go half mad.

 _It is rather hard to explain,_ curling writing in sea-green ink appeared upon her arm. Helena gasped as more words appeared. _The sea is a myriad of colours, and smells unlike anything else on this earth. Imagine the freshest odour you can remember and add a sense of longing with a hint of bitterness. That is the scent of the sea. My question to thee is why thou cannot sense these things thyself? Art thou afflicted with some sort of curse?_

 _I am,_ Helena hastily scrawled back. If this was a figment of her imagination, then what a beautiful dream it was. She would not tarnish her first contact with a sentient being asking mindless questions. _I have been locked away for my own good for every day of my life since the hour I was born. Woe be the cursed one. Art thou a traveller?_

 _Of a sort,_ the being replied. _I live by the sea, and my father has journeyed many times to the lands beyond. I am glad to have found thee. I began to lose all hope of a soulmate. Teased I will be no longer by my sisters. Why doth thou tarry so in writing to me?_

 _A soulmate?_ Helena asked, furrowing her brows. _I did not know that thou wouldst reply. In all honesty, I do not rightly know whom… or what… I am writing to._

 _Thou hast been sequestered indeed._ The writing was rushed this time, the words nearly flowing into one another. _Allow me to explain. Every person born in this kingdom has the ability to write to his or her soulmate on their left forearm. If the ink stays upon one's skin, then it is the other who has the key to enabling the conversation. I tried to write to thee many a time in my youth. By now, I had given up all hope._

 _My mother never mentioned such a thing._ Helena wiped her eyes before they fell on the fresh ink, the sting from her mother's betrayal surprising. Why had Rowena not allowed Helena this one small comfort during her time trapped in the tower.

 _If thou wouldst describe thy location, I may be able to free thee,_ the curving handwriting offered. There was a hesitation, before the words were replaced. _Thou sayeth that thou art locked away for thy own good, but if thy mother has lied about this, who is to say if thou art truly cursed?_

Helena had never thought of that. Could her mother have imprisoned her for a different reason? Helena didn't even know anymore. What if Rowena had decided to try her hand at black magic like the mages in Helena's books? She did not wish to risk the possibility. Better to escape now and confront her mother with the aid of this stranger. But she did not wish to tie her life to a sentient being that may or may not be who they said they were.

There was a headcount of every man, woman and child in the kingdom in her mother's tax report. As adviser to King Godric, her mother made it her duty to know everything that transpired within the kingdom. And what better place to store the archives than with her ever watchful daughter?

 _That would please me greatly,_ she replied, before reinking her quill. _However, I feel as though I must know more about my soulmate before thou departest upon thy quest. What is thy name? Thou spoke of siblings?_

 _Septimus is my name - Baron Septimus now that my father has passed away. I used to have six brothers and sisters, but three passed away from pestilence. I am close with Threia, she mentored me with my magic and taught me about soulmates. Sexta is closest to me in age, but we fight as only siblings can._

 _I would like to meet them,_ Helena replied. She would have liked someone with her, someone with whom she could have played, confided in. She had asked her mother for a female confident, since the prophecy spoke of a "man", but Rowena took no risks. Now, Helena wondered if the goal was to isolate her even more.

 _I live in a tower made of stone and glass._ Helena waited for a few seconds for each sentence to fade before writing the next, hoping against hope that Septimus would understand her directions. _It is sheer as far as the eye can see, but I believe that magic can knock through the wall. There are mountains as far as the eye can see to the North and East, but to the South I can see rolling hills with a hint of green. To the West lie forests and more hills. There are no other structures in sight, at least not the structures I know of. Perhaps there is something under the trees, though I do not believe this to be so._

A moment passed. A second. Just as Helena was going to give up all hope, the sea-green reply came swiftly, jaggedly, as though Septimus were not writing upon a flat surface.

 _I think I have found thee. I will not tarry. Await my arrival at dawn the next day. Might I be so bold as to ask thy name, fair lady? If I may call thee a lady._

Helena smiled at that. The King had not a wife, but a husband. She supposed that Septimus did not wish to be surprised.

 _My name is Helena, my Baron. I am a lady, though I fear that I may not be so fair as other damsels who have had the space to stretch their wings._

* * *

'Helena!' a voice called through her dreams.

Helena blinked sleepily. _What cruel dreams I have,_ she thought, _to have imagined such an elaborate rescue._

'Helena!' the voice called again, echoing within the tower this time.

Helena's eyes snapped open. Could it be… that it was not merely a dream? She slid out of bed and padded down the stairs to her window, opening the glass panel an inch or two - as far as it would go.

'Baron Septimus?' she called hesitantly.

''T'is I!' She could hear him more clearly this time. His voice was of a deep timbre, much deeper than either hers or her mother's. 'I have found thee!' he cried joyfully. 'Though I fear that I do not know how to rescue thee!'

Luckily for Septimus, Helena had dreamed of the day she would escape the tower for hours on end.

'Step back and keep a light upon the topmost part of the tower!' she instructed. Her plan had always involved two people.

There was a small scuffle in the half-light before Septimus called out to say that he was in place.

' _Reducto!_ ' Helena shouted, pouring all of her pent up energy into the spell.

The tower blasted into smithereens, and Helena ducked to avoid the flying glass. Her cheek was grazed and her hands were bloody, but she felt for the first time the cool of the morning dew that she had read so much of, felt the breeze lift up her dark locks to place them behind her back.

She let out an exhilarated laugh. 'It worked!'

'Now what?' the Baron asked.

'Now, you catch me!' she shouted, running into the abyss.

For a few seconds, panic took her. She had expected Septimus to catch her with a variation of the levitation charm, but perhaps he did not know it? As she prepared to face her death, she felt herself hit a pair of strong arms with a thump. The breath was knocked out of her lungs as she found herself looking into a pair of clear blue eyes.

'My Lady,' he breathed. 'Truly, thou art more beautiful than the legends say.'

'Thou knowest who I am?' Helena asked, frowning as he let her down, brushing debris from her dress.

'The entire kingdom knows who thee are, Helena,' the Baron replied, pulling out a handkerchief and gently dabbing at her cheek, his brow creased with concentration. 'The daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw, the Grey Lady who haunts her tower forevermore. The cursed maiden, doomed to remain within a tower for the remainder of her days.'

 _For the remainder of her days,_ Helena repeated in her mind, shuddering. _How I am glad to have found my soulmate now._


	17. Diamonds, Dreams and Stars

**Romance Awareness Month -** **Your soulmate mark is only half complete and it completes itself when you spend time with your soulmate.**

 **Bonus prompt: "Diamond"**

 **Geocaching Day - Write a fic set outside.**

 **Songlyrics challenge: Diamonds on my wrist, whiskey on my tongue**

* * *

Helena traced the two diamond patterns on her wrist. They were silvery, like scars that would never heal, though there had never been a wound. They had fascinated her from the day she was born, according to her mother.

'Stop that, Helena,' Rowena admonished. 'Thou willst tear thy skin before long, if thou rubbeth too hard.'

'Sorry, Momma,' Helena replied dutifully, trying to keep up with her mother's long legs. 'It's just… it looks complete already.'

'Whilst there are some that have fully completed marks from a young age, I sincerely doubt that thou art one of them,' Rowena replied. She looked down, and her face softened. She took her daughter's chubby hand in her own, feeling the warmth between her cool fingers. 'Helena, I have no doubt that thou art destined for great things, but I cannot help but hope that love is in thy future. It is a fulfilling and rewarding emotion.'

'But Papa broke thy heart,' Helena complained, skipping to alleviate her foot pain. A wistful smile broke upon her face. 'He broke mine too.'

'Thy heart is too young to break,' Rowena laughed, but it had a hollow ring to it. 'And thy father did never mean to break mine heart.'

'But he _did,_ ' the young girl insisted impatiently. 'I don't want my heart broken.'

'Neither do I, little one,' Rowena murmured. She stopped abruptly, gathering her only daughter in her arms.

'Hugging me was Papa's job,' Helena stated. It was not an admonition, but Rowena flinched all the same.

'It can be my job now,' she replied softly, before resuming her brisk walk.

Helena noticed that her Momma's eyes were brighter than normal, but whenever she had mentioned it before, her Momma had been upset. Maybe if she didn't say anything, her Momma would be happy again.

'Where are we going?' she asked instead.

'Thou willst meet some children of thy own age,' Rowena replied. 'I have some business with Baron Rosier.'

* * *

'Who art thou?' a girl not much older than Helena asked, crossing her arms and striking a defiant pose.

Helena lifted her chin to meet the girl's challenge. They both had dark hair, but Helena's was of a deep black, whereas the other girl's paled in comparison. Helena tossed her head to prove how much better she was.

'Helena Ravenclaw,' she said proudly. 'My mother teaches your brothers and sisters magic.'

'Oh really?' the girl asked dubiously. 'If thy mother is such a great teacher, why do _we_ have to look after thee?'

Helena didn't like the girl's tone.

'I don't _need_ looking after,' she announced, pointing her nose in the air.

'Lay off her, Sexta,' the boy mumbled from his place in the corner.

Helena eyed him. He didn't seem very brave and handsome and charming, like the heroes of the old epics. In fact, he looked like Sexta, only shorter and less self-assured. Still, Helena would take any support she could get.

'If thou aren't a bairn, then thou willst drink from father's firewhisky,' Sexta said, ignoring her little brother's gasp.

'Sexta, if Papa knew -'

'Father _won't_ know,' Sexta said defiantly, bringing the bottle from the table and proffering it to Helena. 'Of course, if _Helena_ is a baby, then she shouldn't drink. If she's a big girl, then father won't mind.'

'Helena, don't,' the boy said beseechingly. Something in his tone sounded wrong.

Helena looked at him. He looked genuinely afraid, his eyes wide with terror, his mouth straightened into a line. _What could be so bad about a sip of firewhisky?_ Still, if the boy looked that scared, then Helena wouldn't chance it. What if it turned out to be poison?

'I knew that thou wouldst not walk the walk,' Sexta sneered, raising an eyebrow.

'If whisky be for big girls, then thou wouldst drink with me,' Helena replied bravely, not wishing to lose face.

'Fine,' Sexta replied, pulling out the cork and taking a large gulp. She cringed, but did an admirable job of hiding it as she handed the bottle back to Helena. 'I believe it is thy turn.'

'Fine,' Helena replied. She would not be outdone by this nobody. She was _Helena Ravenclaw_ , and that meant something. At least, that's what her mother kept saying.

She tentatively sniffed the bottle and cringed. It smelt like poison to her. But she had gone too far in to back out now. Pinching her nose, she took a sip. It burned her tongue and the whole of her throat as if it were on fire. Her eyes watered, but somehow, she maganed to keep her mouth shut and not cough it all out onto the floor. Sexta looked at her appraisingly.

'Thou mayst accompany me to the kitchens, if it be thy will,' Sexta offered, but Helena was too angry at having been forced to drink the vile liquid to play nice.

'Thou mayst stay here and rot, for all I care,' she told the girl, turning on her heel and walking outside.

Her mother had said not to stray, but surely her mother didn't know what a pest that Sexta was. If she wanted to drink firewhisky, if that was what ten year olds did, then Helena did not want to talk to her, and she did not want to be ten. What had Helena ever done to her?

'Wait!' The boy cried out, cutting into her vindictive thoughts. 'Wait!'

Helena waited patiently as he ran out beside her, his blue eyes shining with curiosity.

'I've never been able to stand up to her,' he explained. 'She's too strong for me now. Anyway, I think we'll get into less trouble if I say that I'm showing thee the gardens.'

Helena let the corners of her mouth curl up into a smile.

'Clever,' she said. 'Lead the way then. What is thy name?'

'Septimus,' the boy answered.

'The seventh,' Helena deduced. The boy's face fell.

'That's what everyone says,' he said in a small voice.

Helena felt a pang of compassion for him. She monopolised her mother's affection and had been the apple in her father's eye. She couldn't imagine competing against six older siblings who would be wiser and stronger than she. She cast about for something nice to say.

'Seven's a magical number,' she said eventually, remembering what her fairytales taught her. 'Maybe when thou cometh of age, thou willst be the strongest of all thy siblings.'

That seemed to cheer Septimus up, and soon they were talking animatedly about all the spells they would learn when they were older and the things they would do when their parents could no longer dictate their lives.

'I'll travel the world,' Helena announced.

'I'll be the best duellist in the whole of Brittania!' Septimus waved an imaginary sword.

Their eyes met and both burst into giggles. For once, someone wasn't laughing at their dreams, but rather with them in anticipation of the future to come. It never once crossed their minds that their increasingly powerful and dangerous feats were near impossible.

In the end, Rowena had to come out into the garden and call Helena personally to get her to leave. Helena rushed to her mother's side, but turned at the last minute to wave at the first person to understand her since her father had died.

On their way back, Helena rubbed at her diamonds. Her mother gave her a warning look, and quickly, Helena pretended that she was pulling at the sleeve of her dress.

Suddenly, she gasped.

'What is it now, Helena?' Her mother's voice sounded exasperated, but amused.

Helena narrowed her eyes at Rowena. She wasn't prepared for her mother's "I told thee so" speech yet.

'Nothing,' she said quickly, hiding her arm behind her back.

Rowena arched one dark eyebrow, but left her daughter to her secrets.

That evening, after Rowena had kissed her goodnight, Helena ran to the window to make sure that what she saw was true. Under the moonlight, her silvery scars shone brightly. Only they weren't diamonds. Instead, they had been elongated into two eight-point stars, beautiful and elegant in their composition.

Helena couldn't wait to meet Septimus again.


	18. It's All Fun and Games

**Romance Awareness Month -** **You can only be killed by your soulmate OR your soulmate can't harm you at all.**

 **Fortnightly Song Lyrics: Teetering off of the stage, yeah**

 **Treasure Hunt: Penseive**

* * *

Helena Ravenclaw had always been gifted with an abnormal amount of luck. She had fallen from trees with barely a scratch, been run over by a horse and carriage and dusted off her dress before carrying on, accidentally drunk one of Uncle Salazar's poisons by mistake and lived to tell the tale.

Helena believed herself invincible.

Rowena knew the truth.

For Rowena Ravenclaw had created the Penseive - a silvery liquid of which composition only she knew the ingredients - able to store a witch of wizard's thoughts and dreams. Originally, she had needed it to clear her mind. It was only in her later years that she had discovered other purposes.

If one said the proper charms and wards, plunging oneself into the Penseive at dawn and emerging at dusk could make one impervious to harm. Rowena had been inspired by the wizard of Ancient Greece - Achilles - who had bathed in a liquid she deemed similar to that of her Penseive. So, Rowena had tested her theory on the one most dear to her, the one she could not bear losing… the one she would sacrifice anything for.

She had drowned her daughter at the age of six months. Metaphorically speaking. In fact, the liquid of the Penseive took one to a dreamworld, a different state of being - a memory. Helena was imbibed with all the qualities of the memories - unchangeable by others - and in exchange, Rowena had lost her husband.

She believed that he had been a worthy sacrifice, and one so great that she did not fear reprisal for her daughter.

For the old magic works two ways. Love can take and love can give. It cures curses that seem insurmountable, repairs the soul when it is lost beyond all hope… but it is also the bane to the best of the protection spells. A Secret Keeper's only weakness is himself, the one the protected trusts the most. And the spell cast on Helena would be broken in an instant when coming in contact with true love.

Rowena believed her debt had been paid.

Rowena was wrong.

* * *

Helena deftly picked her way along the stage of the Fountain of Fair Fortune - the play Hogwarts put on every year in May. Down below, Septimus called out to her.

'Be careful, my love,' he said, worry evident in his voice. 'I could not bear it if something were to happen to thee.'

'Never fear, Baron dear,' Helena laughed, twirling near the edge of the stage. 'Thou knowst that I am incredibly lucky.'

'Incredible luck doth not beget incredible risk,' Septimus said. 'Please, return to me. At least let the stage be set.'

Indeed, several students were waiting for Helena to leave so they could test the colour coordination of the floating candles. The Charms Professor had decided it would be good practice for the O.W.L.s.

'Very well, spoilsport,' Helena called, stepping daintily down the steps. 'I'll have thee know…'

But what she would have Septimus know, nobody would know, since at that very moment she tripped, sliding down the steps and falling onto a broken wheel of a wagon.

'Helena!' Septimus called, anguish evident in his voice. He ran to his beloved's side, only to find her giggling, unharmed. He let out a sigh. 'Do not do that to me again. I do not care if thou art impervious to harm. I worry all the same.'

Helena smiled, reaching up to cradle Septimus's cheek. She pulled him towards her for a gentle kiss, ignoring the gasp of a fellow student.

'If it doth not please thee, then look away,' Helena said sharply, before laughing again and going in for another kiss. 'If two betrothed cannot kiss, then who can?'

Septimus gasped, taking in as much air as his lungs would allow.

'Then… thou willst accept my offer?' he asked, his voice trembling as though he was scared to even question her response.

'Yes,' Helena replied simply, and Septimus kissed her more fully, taking her hands within his own as he lept to his feet.

'What wonderful news!' he exclaimed joyously.

'Yes,' Helena repeated, drawing out the word as she took up a duelling sabre. 'Yes, but thou must duel me for my hand.'

The Baron looked at her, grey eyes dancing with joy, her black hair tressed for the play, and thought that he could never refuse her anything she desired. Reluctantly, he drew his own sword and held it aloft.

' _En guarde,_ ' Helena cried before leaping to her feet, attempting to catch Septimus by surprise.

He easily deflected the sword, but soon enough he was duelling with all of his might. Helena must have been practicing. She never could abide being second best at anything.

'Helena?' a sharp, feminine voice called. 'Helena, where art thou? Thou must come for the reading _at once._ '

Helena stopped short, recognising the acidic tones of her mother. If Rowena knew what she was up to, she would surely punish her in front of the entire school. Forgetting the duel, she dropped her sabre and looked about for a place to hide.

Septimus, caught in the momentum, widened his eyes as he saw his sword approaching Helena's unprotected torso, having expected her to parry his blow. He tried to stop his arm, to no avail. The movement was in motion.

As cleanly as a knife cutting through butter, Septimus's sword pierced Helena through the middle, meeting no resistance, not even that one would expect.

As though burned, Septimus dropped his weapon, but it was too late. He gathered Helena in his arms, the tears falling fast and thick.

'Helena,' he sobbed. 'I'm so sorry, Helena I didn't mean to…'

'It was impossible,' she said breathlessly, an expression of pure surprise crossing her face. She frowned as she tried to understand, looking at Septimus questioningly. 'H-How?'

But how, Helena would never know, for at that moment her heart gave out and she fell limply in Septimus's arms. All around, students and teachers were gathering, unsure as to whether this was a rehearsed scene or not. When Rowena Ravenclaw pushed forwards to the front of the crowd and let out a cry of despair, the students had their answer.

But all of this went unnoticed by Septimus, who cradled his lover in his arms, whispering her name, waiting for her to wake up and tell him that it was but another of her cruel jokes. When his tears fell upon cold cheeks, Septimus knew of the horror he had wrought, the crime he had committed. With a shout of anger, of pain, and of everything dark that lies deep within the heart, he took up Helena's abandoned sabre and pierced his own heart, welcoming the icy sting as it took away his attention from the pain. If she were to die, then he would spend the afterlife suffering with her, for her, doing the penance he knew his life would never be long enough to endure.


	19. Never Saying No

**Romance Awareness Month - colours get brighter around your soulmate**

 **Extra prompt: 'You could always come home with us.'**

 **Jenga prompt:** **(Genre) Family**

 **Easy Pinata: Het pairing.**

* * *

'Papa, papa, look!' Helena cried, tugging at her father's arm. 'There are pretty colours!'

'Don't listen to her,' Rowena said absently, knowing that her husband caved to all of his daughters demands. 'She should learn to accept that people have the right to say "no".'

Henry looked back to his wife and pursed his lips. 'What harm could there be in exploring the park a little? Rowena, sometimes I think thou must forget what it is to be a child. Come, Helena, show me these pretty colours thou seest.'

Rowena shook her head, but a small smile tugged at her lips.

'Very well then,' she said. 'I must remain, for Helga will be along soon with the plans for the school. Off with the two of you!'

Helena gave a cry of delight and pulled her father towards the shining colours with surprising strength, babbling about how some people had the colours and some didn't, that some trees did and others didn't.

'Is this a game, Helena?' Henry asked suspiciously, kneeling down to his daughter's height as she followed a black cat with green eyes.

'No!' Helena shouted, hurt pulling across her face. 'I told thee, there is a purple ring around the cat, like when Momma does her magic.'

'In that case, I believe thou art coming into thy powers as a Seer. Not a wizarding Seer, but a Muggle Seer like me. We can see magical auras pulsating from magical objects and persons. Those trees with the green auras have magical beings living within. I confess myself surprised, I did not think thou hadst the power,' Henry paused, musing. His daughter was six years old. It was possible that she was a late bloomer.

'The colours are stronger over here,' Helena said importantly, puffing her chest out at the idea of being a Seer.

That stopped Henry short. Why would the colours be stronger? There was no reason, no reason at all. Magical energy was a constant, it did not ebb away in the manner of the sea.

'Art thou quite certain, Helena?' he found himself asking, then regretting it. His daughter hated nothing more than not being believed.

'Of course!' she protested. 'I will show thee, papa.'

And so she led him on a merry chase through the trees until they reached a grand oak, with a boy of Helena's age quietly curled up underneath. Henry felt a clenching in his stomach. There was more than met the eye with this scene.

'Let me handle this, Helena,' he said softly to his daughter.

Luckily, Helena had picked up on something, for her grey eyes looked at him solemnly as she nodded. Slowly, Henry knelt down to talk to the boy.

'Good morning,' he said conversationally. 'Wouldst thou mind terribly if I sat beneath this tree? It is one of my favourites, after all.'

'Sorry, sir,' came the immediate reply. 'I will find another tree, I didn't know, please don't…'

'Please don't what?' Henry asked, lowering a hand to the boy's shoulder. He flinched.

'Nothing sir,' the boy replied, looking up quickly before his eyes dropped back to the floor.

But not before Henry noticed the classic signs. The boy's blue eyes had been filled with resignation, his lower lip trembling in fear. That, coupled with the lack of parents…

'Let us get thee back to thy parents,' Henry said, hating himself as he did so. But he needed to be sure before he acted.

'No! Don't tell papa, he will be ever so mad!' The words spilled from the boy's mouth before he could stop, scrambling to his feet and crouching into a defensive position.

'What be thy name, shiny boy?' Helena piped up, staring at the boy. Henry groaned inwardly. 'And how didst thou acquire such a bright aura?'

'Septimus,' the boy replied, against all odds. He lowered himself into a bow - evidently the manners that Helena still lacked had been trained into him already. 'At thy service, my lady.'

Helena's lips curved into a smile. 'If thou doth not wish to go home, then thou couldst always come home with us. Especially because thou maketh the colours shine so bright.' She looked up at her father hesitatingly. 'Couldn't he, papa?'

'That he could, my dear,' Henry replied immediately, looking at the way the boy favoured one leg over another. He would deal with Rowena's anger later. 'That he could.


	20. The Crystal Ball

**Romance Awareness Month - write a soulmate AU of your choosing.**

 **Assignment #3 Hogwarts - Arithmancy: write about someone changing their mind after a fortune telling.**

 **1436 words.**

* * *

'I fail to see why this is necessary, Mother,' Helena said, without looking up from her book. She idly turned a page. 'The orb never showed thee thy true love.'

'If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Helena,' Rowena Ravenclaw sighed, coming to stand before her petulant daughter. 'The orb never showed me my true love, because thy father was a Muggle. It only works for magical beings.'

'And what if my true love were a Muggle?'

'Then thou wouldst know for sure if the orb remains dull,' Rowena shot back, aware that her daughter had inherited her critical mind. The only way to get Helena to do anything was through an argument. However, she would have liked it if once, _just once_ , Helena had trusted her.

'Thou willst not stop to pester me until I go, willst thou?' Helena asked, closing her book with a snap. Her expression was one of longsuffering as she added. 'Very well, Mother, let us see what the soothsayer hath to say of my soulmate.'

Rowena was relieved. She had been coaxing Helena for months to visit the soothsayer, as the crystal ball only worked for those of seventeen years of age - the cusp between childhood and adulthood. Every wizard and witch in Britain went to the soothsayer, save Helena Ravenclaw. Rowena could only imagine what the other founders would have to say about that. _Is thy daughter too good for the soothsayer? Is there something wrong with her? If thou cannot control thy own child, why would we trust thee with fifty?_

Of course, they would never say that. But Rowena was certain they would think it, and her reputation would suffer. Rowena Ravenclaw, the witch who knows everything - or too little? Rowena Ravenclaw, always in control save where it matters most.

'Thank you, Helena,' Rowena replied, letting only a little of her gratitude show. It wouldn't do to have Helena realise what her mother was thinking. She had little respect for her as it was.

 _Oh, curse the fates who gave me such a beautiful and strong-willed daughter,_ she thought, raising her blue eyes to the heavens. _She will be the death of me._

* * *

The soothsayers tent was almost comical in appearance, or so Helena thought. The purple banners and trails of incense, coupled with the dream catchers, gave her the impression that the woman was but a charlatan, and a poor one at that.

The woman herself was a wizened crone, her hair falling out and one bottom tooth jutting forth. Her brow had sunk low over her eyes, the filmy orbs themselves sunken into their sockets. In short, she was everything that a fate should be, and yet everything about her seemed practiced, false.

 _I do not believe in destiny,_ Helena thought firmly, keeping her expression aloof. She knew what people said of her, that she was too arrogant, too haughty, too opinionated. She would not give this "soothsayer" the satisfaction of reading even a little of her emotions.

She took a deep breath before sitting down. On anyone else, this would be construed as a sign of nervousness. For Helena, this meant that she was strengthening her Occlumency walls, a magic she had learnt from Salazar Slytherin himself. Only a precious few were deemed worthy of learning this skill, and Helena had been one of them. Much to her surprise, the impetuous Septimus Rosier - Baron Septimus Rosier now - was one of them. Even more so was the fact that Septimus had been a natural.

 _Your thoughts are drifting,_ she chided herself. _An organised mind begets an organised life._ Immediately, she felt angry at herself for using one of her mother's sayings. Still, it worked, so she sat, and let the soothsayer begin.

'Look into the crystal,' the witch said in a surprisingly low voice. 'What seest thou?'

'I'm not a Seer,' Helena replied bluntly. 'I will see naught but my own reflection.'

Rowena made a dissatisfied sound from the corner of the tent, but neither Helena nor the soothsayer paid her any attention.

' _Quid video, vides, quid sentit, sentis,_ ' the witch suddenly intoned, suddenly reaching across the table and grasping Helena's hand.

'Unhand me, foul being!' Helena cried, trying to pull back. The witch kept a hold of it with surprising force.

'Do not interrupt the process, Helena,' Rowena warned.

 _I care nothing for the process,_ Helena thought, and was about to say as much when the soothsayer hissed a cutting spell. Bright red blood trickled from Helena's palm, spattering the orb below.

Immediately, the droplets sunk into the crystal, as though the glass were feeding on Helena's blood. If Helena wasn't so terrified, she would have wished to study it. As it was, curiosity was far from her mind.

She wanted to leave the tent far behind her, and never return. She wanted to scream at her mother for tricking her so, but instead she was rooted to her seat, her eyes drawn to the crystal, which had turned a red so dark it was nearly black.

Trying to fight it, to fight the force that had taken control of her body, Helena wrenched her eyes closed, but soon enough they opened and turned to stare at the crystal once more. Her struggles were forgotten as the darkness seemed to swirl hypnotically.

Suddenly, she gasped as a wave of emotion pushed into her, nearly knocking her backwards. A myriad of love and sadness whirled in her heart, pushing at it painfully.

'One heart is not enough for such depth,' she whispered.

The crone leaned forwards, eagerly licking her lips.

'Tell me more,' she said, still with that unnaturally deep voice. 'Tell me, and I will see them.'

'There is so much pain,' Helena said weakly, the words spilling from her lips as they had never before. 'Suffering from old wounds that still weep, suffering taken from another's heart, and suffering from a love never returned. I see… a glimpse of forest green, the hand of determination and strength, but also fear borne of a father's will. I feel…'

'I see him now, yes,' the soothsayer said, touching a hand to the orb. 'Hair of the darkest brown, but not as black as the heart of the father. Eyes as deep a blue as the ocean, to capture the depths of the soul within. The silver of wealth, the green of ambition. Thy love is a Slytherin, of the finest breed.'

The spell stopped. The colour receded from the crystal, leaving it clear once more. Helena blinked and slumped back, no longer held in her seat. She felt as though emerging from a haze, but once her head was clear, she did not hesitate for an instant.

'That was dark magic,' she accused the soothsayer. 'I did not give my blood willingly.'

'Thy mother was willing and her blood runs in thy veins,' the old crone said. 'It needed coaxing, but it responded to its kind.'

'Mother,' Helena turned around to face Rowena, trying to hold her tears in check. 'How could thee?'

'It was for thy own good, my daughter,' Rowena replied, coming forwards to lay a hand on her daughter's arm. Helena shook it off, unable to stand the touch.

'Wishest thou to know the answer to thy question?' the soothsayer asked, as though she had not performed one of the darkest of rituals.

'That was no question of mine,' Helena said darkly, but tried to think rationally. She had suffered for the information, and though it was not information sought, it was information all the same and it would be a waste to leave it. 'Very well.'

'Thy love is Baron Septimus Rosier,' the old crone replied. 'His three sufferings are those of childhood, family, and love for a maiden who would not have him. Wilt thou have him now?'

Helena thought back to Septimus Rosier, as she had known him at school. He was impetuous, he was dangerous, he was arrogant. Yet he knew no match with the sword and his magic was strong. He ever had a courteous word for her, too courteous. Helena knew that if she sought him out, he would seek nothing but her happiness for the remainder of her days.

Then she thought to the methods her mother had used, how happy Rowena would be, how disgusted Helena would feel at the mere memory of this encounter.

'No,' she replied. 'I will not.'

And with that she left the tent, and England itself, vowing never to return. For although Helena now believed in destiny and fate, that did not mean that she could not run from it as long as she still took breath.

* * *

' _Quid video, vides, quid sentit, sentis,_ ' - What I see, you see; what he/she feels, you feel.


End file.
